Southern  Branch 
of  the 

University  of  California 

Los  Angeles 


Form  L  1 


1^"^  <i.  "■.  WELCH,  ^1 

>  Bookseller  and  Stationer,  r 
f^    San  Jose,  Cal.    M^ 


/V5 


STATE  NORMAL  SCHOOL, 

Los  AngeJes,  Cal. 


SOCIAL   PRESSURE 


SUTt  HORMAl  SCHOOL.         f-  (^   6 
U*  Angeles,  Cai. 

Social    Pressure. 


SIR   ARTHUR   HELPS,  K.C.B. 

AUTHOR     OF     "'friends    IM     COUNCIL,"     "COMPANIONS    OF     MV     SOLITUDE,' 

"■DROUGHTS     UPON     GOVERNMENT,"     "  LIFE    AND     LABORS 

OF     BRASSEY,"     ETC. 


BOSTON: 

ROBERTS     BROTHERS. 

1S75. 


H3fe 


TO  THE 

RIGHI'  HON.   W.   E.   FORSTER,  IM.P., 

ETC.,   ETC. 


My  dkar  Forster, 

I  dedicate  this  work  to  you. 

Our  unbroken  friendship,  and  the  pleasure 
I  have  had  in  working  under  and  with  you, 
would  amply  justify  this  dedication. 

But  I  have  also  a  special  motive  which 
causes  me  to  inscribe  the  work  to  you. 
Free,  as  you  now  are,  from  what  are  justly 
called  the  "  trammels  of  office,"  you  will 
be  able  to  give  more  attention  to  those 
social  subjects  which  are  chiefly  discussed 
in  this  volume. 

Your  knowledge  of  all  classes  of  your 
fellow-countrymen,  your  sympathetic  nature. 


vi  DEDICA  riON. 

and  V(uir  skilful  management  of  business, 
point  vou  out  as  a  man  who  could  do  good 
service  in  promoting  measures  which  have, 
for  their  end  and  aim,  an  increase  of  the 
comfort  and  well-being  of  all  classes  of  the 
community.  These  measures  are  happily 
beyond  the  region  of  political  strife  ;  but 
the  final  purpose,  at  which  they  aim,  cannot 
be  attained  without  aid  trom  the  leading 
statesmen  of  the  day. 

I  take  the  opportunity,  which  this  letter 
affords  me,  of  mentioning  that  Mr.  Milver- 
ton's  Essays  were  written  long  ago  :  long 
before  they  were  read  to  the  "  Friends  in 
Council."  If  I  were  not  to  make  this  state- 
ment, it  would  seem  ungracious  on  his  part 
that  he  had  not  alluded  to  the  many  great 
efforts  which  have  already  been  made  by 
individuals  for  the  furtherance  of  those 
objects  which  he  had  most  in  view  when 
writing  some  of  these  essays. 

In  providing  open  spaces  for  recreation  In 
and  near  large  towns,  and  in  forming  town- 
ships of  dwelling  places  for  artizans,  sundry 


/ 


DEDICATION.  vii 

benevolent  persons  have  already  bestirred 
themselves,  and  have  effected  much  g-ood. 
It  is  but  just  to  notice  these  improvements  ; 
but,  as  Mr.  Milverton  says,  if  all  the 
benevolent  and  powerful  people  were  to 
interest  themselves  for  a  whole  i^eneration 
in  effecting^  such  objects,  too  much  would 
not  be  done  to  overtake  the  consequences 
of  former  oversight  and  neglect. 

I  remain, 

Yours  very  truly, 

THE  AUTHOR. 

LoiidoTty  November,  1874. 


CHAPTER  I. 

T    HAVE   so   often    told  who   I   am,    and 

explained  who  the  Friends  in  Council 

are,  that  I  shall  not  do  so  on  the  present 

occasion,  and  will  only  say  that  they  consist 

of  several    persons  who    are  really  friends, 

and    that    I,    Alexander    Johnson,   am    the 

I       private  secretary  to  one  of  them  — namely, 

!^     to  Mr.  Milverton. 

^  It  has  been  their  habit  for  many  years  to 

'^      spend  their  Easter  vacation   together;   and 

^     it  has  often  been  their  practice  to  take  some 

one  subject  for  their  consideration,  and  to 

endeavour  to  work  that  out. 

This  time  their  place  of  meeting  was  not 
the  usual  one.  It  was  at  a  villa  on  the 
banks  of  the  Thames.  Sir  John  Ellesmere 
was  the  host,  and  not  Mr.  Milverton.     They 


2  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

had  chosen  this  place  of  meeting,  as,  on 
account  of  the  change  of  Administration, 
one  of  their  number  was  more  closely  occu- 
pied than  usual,  and  could  not  have  joined 
them,  if  they  had  been  at  a  distance  from 
London. 

I  .will  commence  at  once  with  the  con- 
versation that  led  to  the  subject  which 
they  finally  resolved  to  adopt  for  discus- 
sion, 

Ellesmere,  Wish  for  it?  Of  course  I  wish  for  it. 
There  are  also  a  good  many  other  things  to  be  wished 
for — that  it  should  never  rain,  except  at  night,  between 
the  hours  of  twelve  and  four  ;  that  fishes  should  have  no 
bones;  shrimps,  no  shells  ;  and  that  oysters  should  open 
of  their  own  accord,  immediately  after  grace  has  been 
said  ;  that  there  should  be  no  irregular  verbs  in  any 
language,  and  no  genders  to  the  substantives;  that  Com- 
mentators' notes  to  difficult  passages  should  not  omit,  in 
more  than  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  to  deal  with  the  difficulty; 
that  ever)'body  should  be  only  vain  of  other  people's 
merits;  and  that  nobody  should  say  the  same  thing  in  the 
same  words  more  than  three  times  over  in  the  course  of 
the  same  day. 

Oh  yes,  there  are  a  great  many  things  to  be  wished 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  3 

for.  By  the  way,  I  must  tell  you  what  a  mistake  I  made 
lately,  from  an  ignorance  of  these  detestable  genders. 
I  am  at  a  party.  I  step  out  upon  the  balcony  with  a 
distinguished  foreigner.  Lots  of  orders  on  his  coat ;  an 
Austrian,  I  think. 

There  are  few  spots  upon  the  earth  where  sunsets  and 
moonhghts  are  more  effective,  are  indeed  better  got  up, 
than  in  our  metropolis. 

The  moon  was  resplendent,  and  brought  out  the  river 
and  adjacent  buildings  magnificently.  I  said  to  the 
distinguished  foreigner,  "  How  beautiful  she  is  to-night !  " 
"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  she,  with  her  dark  hair,  did  most 
become  that .  yellow  gown — what  you  call  it  ?  Yes, 
amber.  She  is  very  beautiful  this  night."  Whereupon  I 
discovered  that  he  was  speaking  of  our  gracious  hostess  ; 
and  I  began  to  surmise  that  the  moon  in  his  stupid 
language  was  masculine.  The  moon,  a  he  !  Let  us  have 
a  conference  of  all  nations,  and  come  to  some  agreement 
about  genders. 

Make  men  more  comfortable,  you  said  !  I  should  like 
to  see  you  do  it.  Besides,  you  don't  seem  to  be  aware 
that  one  of  their  greatest  pleasures  is  grumbling.  If  you 
were  to  make  men  as  comfortable,  according  to  your 
notions,  as  well-fed  and-  well-styed  swine,  they  (the 
men)  would  be  intensely  miserable  from  having  less  to 
grumble  about. 

Mr.  Craniner.  How  we  are  all  shut  up  in  our  own  small 
selves !     I  do  really  believe  that  Ellesmere  would  lose  a 


4  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

great  deal  of  happiness  if  he  had  not  a  great  deal  to 
complain  of;  but  the  rest  of  us  would  decidedly  prefer 
to  be  a  little  more  comforiable  than  we  are.  I  take  no 
pleasure  in  grumbling. 

EUes7)iere.     INIauleverer  is  silent :  he  is  on  my  siile. 

Afr.  Mauleverer.  You  are  quite  mistaken.  I  do  not 
take  much  inteiest  in  what  philanthropists  can  say  to  us, 
for  I  believe  that  it  is  so  little  they  can  do  ;  but  I  don't 
see  why  they  should  not  do  that  little — if  they  can — 
and  it  is  always  an  amusement,  if  not  a  pleasure,  to 
hear  what  they  propose.  There  is  generally  so  much 
folly  in  it. 

Ellesmere.  A  very  pretty  idea,  and  handsomely  ex- 
pressed. I  foresee  a  source  of  enjoyment  which  I  had 
not  reckoned  upon — a  very  constant  and  up-welling 
source. 

It  was  when  we  were  in  the  punt  that  Milverton, 
dilating  upon  the  splendid  thing  this  river  might  be 
made,  and  the  foul  thing  it  is  often  made,  informed 
us,  with  that  modesty  which  is  characteristic  of  all  re- 
formers, that  he  could  make  the  world  much  more  com- 
fortable, if  it  would  only  give  him  the  opportunity  of 
doing  so. 

Sir  Af-t/iur  Godolphin.  He  said  nothing  of  the  kind, 
Ellesmere. 

Elksma-e.  No,  no — not  directly;  but,  according  to 
that  excellent  phrase,  "  reading  between  the  lines,"  one 
could  see  that  that  was  what  he  meant.     For  my  own 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  5 

part,  there  is  no  garment  in  which  audacity  clothes  or 
conceals  itself  that,  to  my  taste,  is  so  repugnant  as 
the  veil  of  mock-modesty.  If  Milverton  would  only 
honestly  say  that  he  believes  he  could  immensely  im- 
prove the  world,  I  would  get  up  early  in  the  morning 
to  attend  him,  would  not  interrupt  his  discourse, 
and  would  listen  —  proper  intervals  of  sleep  being 
allowed — until  the  weary  sun,  not  wearier  than  my- 
self, descended,  in  this  flat  land,  into  that  waste  of 
waters. 

Mr.  Milverton.  I  cannot  accept  this  magnificent  and 
encouraging  offer  upon  the  terms  proposed  ;  but  if  Elles- 
mere  will  only  give  me  one  patient  hour  in  the  day,  net 
commencing  at  early  dawn  nor  concluding  with  the 
setting  sun,  I  will  endeavour  to  instruct  his  obtuse  mind 
as  to  some  of  the  means  which  I  should  propose  for 
making  men  more  comfortable. 

Ellesmere.  We  all  know  Sir  Arthur's  love  of  making 
an  adjective  very  grand  by  putting  the  definite  article 
before  it.  I  have  heard  him  talk  of  the  Good,  the 
Beautiful,  the  Becoming,  the  Decorous.  Now  let  him 
make  grand  that  commonplace  word  comfortable,  by 
sticking  that  forcible  article  before  it  with  a  capital  letter. 
Yes,  we  will  discourse  about  The  Comfortable,  which  in 
the  spring-time  of  this  climate,  with  its  chill  horrors,  is 
about  the  last  great  abstraction  that  we  should  naturally 
think  of.  It  is  therefore  most  fitting  to  dilate  upon  on 
the  present  occasion. 


6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

The  foregoing-  is  a  fragment  of  the  con- 
versation which  led  to  the  choice  of  subject 
that  was  at  first  adopted,  but  by  no  means 
adhered  to,  by  the  "  Friends  in  Council," 
for  this  Easter. 


CHAPTER  II. 

"^1 /"E  met  next  morning  in  the  library; 
and  as  Mr.  Milverton  had  told  us  that 
his  first  essay  would  not  be  short,  and  had 
deprecated  all  previous  conversation,  even 
Sir  John  Ellesmere  was  content  to  be  silent, 
and  the  reading  began  at  once. 

TOWNS  MAY  BE  TOO  LARGE. 

There  have  been  three  very  shrewd  people 
who  have  worn  crowns,  and  who  have  ruled 
over  this  country,  almost  in  succession, — 
namely,  Henry  VIII.,  Queen  Elizabeth,  and 
James  I.  In  enumerating  their  merits,  or 
their  demerits,  there  is  always  much  to  be 
said  on  both  sides  of  the  question.  But 
there  is  one   branch  of  policy  common   to 


8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

all  of  them,  and  which  each  insisted  upon 
strongly — namely,  that  their  metropolis 
should  be  prevented,  if  possible,  from  be- 
coming- too  large. 

These  monarchs  liked  to  see  their  great 
people  go  back  to  their  homes  in  their  own 
counties,  and  always  discouraged  an  increase 
of  the  population  of  London.  This  uniform 
feeling  on  their  part  might  have  had  a 
purely  political  origin  In  their  minds.  Still 
we  may  give  them  the  benefit  of  the  doubt, 
and  may  conjecture  that  other  considera- 
tions had  weight  with  them,  besides  those 
connected  with  the  distribution  of  political 
power. 

Certainly  one  of  the  greatest  evils  of  mo 
dern  life,  is  the  existence  of  great  towns. 
Nobody  who  has  not  studied  this  subject  can 
have  an  idea  of  what  immense  loss  is  caused 
by  the  excessive  bigness  of  these  great 
towns — loss  of  health,  of  time,  of  comfort, 
of  material  resources  of  every  kind. 

To  take  a  very  simple  instance,  the  loss 
of  animal  power  is  enormous.     Four  or  five 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  9 

hundred  horses  are  carried  to  the  knacker's 
yard  each  week  In  London.  It  is  probable 
that  not  more  than  about  forty  horses  would 
be  used  up,  if  all  the  horses  which  do  the 
work  in  London  did  similar  work  in  smaller 
towns,  where  there  would  not  be  so  much 
necessity  for  paved  roadways. 

It  is  not  only  to  the  lower  animal  life,  but 
to  the  life  of  man,  that  the  existence  of  those 
huge  towns  is  disadvantageous.  Every- 
thing is  rendered  more  difficult  by  their 
enormous  size,  and  by  their  want  of  con- 
centration. Work  is  more  difficult ;  and 
play  (which  is,  after  all,  a  great  part  of 
man's  life)  is  far  more  difficult.  It  seems 
a  small  thing  to  say,  but  it  is  a  most 
serious  thing  with  regard  to  the  happiness 
of  mankind,  that  a  busy  man,  in  these  great 
centres  of  population,  cannot,  after  the  toil 
of  the  day,  take  a  walk  into  the  countiy. 
Who  can  do  so,  for  instance,  in  London, 
where,  in  several  directions,  there  are  ten 
continuous  miles  of  houses  ? 

Then  as  to  the  pleasures  of  society,  these 


lo  SOCIAL   PRESSURE. 

are  destroyed  by  the  immense  extent  of 
this  metropolis.  Even  the  largest  houses 
are  not,  relatively  speaking-,  large  enough 
for  the  town  in  which  they  are  situated. 
The  consequence  is  that  society  is,  for  the 
most  part,  a  crowd ;  and  it  is  impossible  to 
be  social  in  a  crowd. 

Then,  again,  the  chief  pleasure  of  society 
is  in  knowing  something  of  the  character 
and  the  peculiarities  of  those  with  whom 
you  associate.  This  is  impossible  in  huge 
towns,  such  as  Paris  or  London.  The  result 
is,  that  half  your  time,  your  best  time,  your 
play  time,  is  passed  in  the  society  of  com- 
parative strangers,  with  whom  you  have  to 
make  a  sudden  acquaintance  as  best  you 
may.  You  meet  a  person,  man  or  woman, 
with  whom  you  are  disposed  to  be  sympa- 
thetic ;  but  it  is  perhaps  two  years  before 
you  have  the  opportunity  of  meeting  that 
person  again.  Hence  your  society  is  frag- 
mentary, uncertain,  and  seldom  becomes 
knit  together  by  the  bonds  of  frequent  and 
familiar  intercourse 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  ii 

But,  to  turn  to  disadvantages  which  some 
may  think  of  a  more  serious  kind,  to  the 
waste  which  is  occasioned  in  all  matters  of 
business  by  the  immense  extent  of  these 
centres  of  population.  It  is  not  too  much 
to  say  that  any  matter  of  business  takes 
nearly  twice  the  time  to  be  transacted  in  a 
large  metropolis  that  it  does  in  a  small  one. 

Then,  as  regards  questions  of  health.  It 
was  well  said  by  one  of  the  greatest  sanitary 
reformers  of  this  age,  that,  though  London 
is  a  place  where  the  rate  of  mortality  is  not 
exceedingly  high,  it  is  yet  a  place  where 
nobody,  except  butchers'  boys,  enjoys  perfect 
health — the  full  state  of  health  that  they  are 
capable  of  enjoying.* 

There  is  no  doubt  that  when  a  number  of 
human  beings  are  crowded  together,  they 
will  make  great  efforts  to  overcome  the 
evils  of  this    crowding,   and    their  numbers 


*  This  was  said  by  Dr.  Arnott,  whose  death  we  have  now 
to  deplore.  His  whole  life  was  given  to  the  service  of  his  fellow- 
men.  A  truer  reformer,  in  the  best  sense  of  the  word,  there  never 
was. 


12  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

aid  them  In  these  efforts.  Ikit  the  mischief 
always  outstrips  the  remedy,  which  proceeds 
at  a  lagging-  and  uncertain  pace,  while  the 
former  proceeds  with  the  sureness  and  com- 
pleteness of  a  law  of  nature.  Besides,  there 
are  certain  evils  connected  with  the  growth 
of  great  towns  which  are  almost  beyond  the 
power  of  man,  at  any  rate  with  his  present 
knowledge,  to  conquer.  The  first  article  of 
food — namely,  fresh  air — is  that  which  is 
least  under  the  command  of  man.  There  is 
no  danger  of  London  being  starved  for  want 
of  animal  food :  there  is  more  and  more 
danger  ever}-  year  of  Its  health  being  dimi- 
nished from  the  want  of  a  supply  of  fresh  air. 

It  has  been  stated,  I  do  not  know  with 
what  truth,  that  every  year  the  hospital 
surgeons  in  London  find  It  more  difficult 
to  cure  wounds  and  iniuiies  of  all  kinds  to 
the  human  body,  on  account,  it  is  supposed, 
of  the  growing  inferiority  of  the  London 
air. 

It  is  contended  that  the  metropolitan 
railways  afibrd  a  large  means  of  daily  exit 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,  13 

into  fresh  air  for  the  London  people.  But 
this  affects  only  a  small  part  of  the  popu- 
lation, comparatively  speaking.  It  is  the 
thousands  who  go  :  it  is  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  who  remain.  And  this  brings 
me  to  another  very  important  branch  of  the 
subject.  The  fact  of  these  thousands  going 
away,  makes  it  worse  for  the  hundreds  of 
thousands  who  remain.  Those  who  have 
their  homes  out  of  London  can  hardly  be 
expected  to  care  much  for  their  own  neigh- 
bourhoods in  London — the  neighbourhoods 
of  their  places  of  business,  not  their  homes. 
This  feeling,  too,  affects  the  higher  classes, 
who,  when  they  are  summoned  to  London 
for  business  or  for  pleasure,  live  in  London, 
and  do  not  patronize  suburban  dwellings. 
But  they  have  little  love  for  their  neighbour- 
hoods ;  and  the  moment  that  the  course  of 
business,  or  the  dictate  of  fashion,  enables 
them  to  escape  from  London,  they  lose  no 
time  in  doing  so. 

Then,     again,     private     and     individual 
charity   is    rendered    very   difficult    by   the 


1 4  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

immense  size  of  the  metropolis.  The 
families  of  the  rich  and  the  powerful,  when 
in  the  country,  in  their  own  neighbour- 
hoods, have  little  difficulty,  if  they  are 
charitably  disposed,  in  learning"  all  about 
their  poor  neighbours  and  really  living 
amongst  them,.  Every  member  of  such  a 
family  (including  the  young  ladies  and  even 
the  children)  can  be  of  some  service  in  the 
charitable  enterprises  of  the  family.  And 
even  in  moderately-sized  towns  the  same 
good  work  is  feasible.  But,  except  in  rare 
instances,  what  prudent  father  or  mother 
could  allow  young  girls  to  go  into  the 
almost  dangerous  neighbourhoods  of  poor 
people  which  are  close  to  the  splendid 
mansions  of  the  rich,  not  profiting  much, 
however,  by  that  select  neighbourhood. 
Doubtless,  the  charities  of  London  are 
vast  ;  but,  for  the  most  part,  they  lack 
individuality,  and  rather  resemble  a  tax  than 
a  charity. 

Again,    it   may  be   said,   with   truth,   that 
the    individual    in    a    huge    city   has    little 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  15 

power  of  protecting'  himself  as  regards 
some  of  the  primary  wants  of  life.  For 
instance,  he  must  take  the  water  that  is 
provided  for  his  quarter  of  the  town,  whether 
he  is  satisfied  with  it  or  not.  He  cannot 
protect  himself  ap^ainst  adulteration  of  food. 
He  has,  in  fact,  become  part  of  a  huge 
machine,  and  has  very  little  voice  in,  or 
influence  upon,  what  goes  on  in  the 
machine. 

Then,  as  to  pleasures..  It  is  true  that 
a  great  capital  attracts  great  talent ;  and 
that  better  music  is  to  be  heard  in  a  great 
capital  than  elsewhere.  But  this  is  a  small 
compensation  to  be  set  off  against  the  fact, 
alluded  to  before,  that  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  people  are  so  environed  by  houses 
that  practically  they  never  take  a  walk 
into  the  country.  Strange  and  sad  as  it 
may  seem,  it  was  natural  enough  that  a 
little  London  boy,  born  and  bred  in  some 
hideous  nest  of  alleys,  should  ask,  as  he 
did,  whether  the  country  was  a  large  yard, 
his   chief  idea  of  air  and   space  being  that 


1 6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

they  were  to  be  found,  in  their  utmost 
extent,  in  a  yard. 

Nothing-  can  give  one  a  better  idea  of 
the  difference  in  the  recreation  to  be  ob- 
tained by  the  inhabitants  of  a  small  town 
compared  with  that  which  is  to  be  obtained 
in  a  huge  metropolis,  than  to  observe 
what  takes  place  in  such  towns  as  Dresden 
and  Munich.  There,  on  their  holidays, 
the  whole  population  flock  out  to  some 
beautiful  garden  a  mile  or  two  from  the 
town;  hear  good  music;  imbibe  fresh  air; 
and  spend  only  a  few  pence  in  these  humble 
but  complete  pleasures.  Compare  this  with 
the  amount  of  pleasure  enjoyed  by  the 
hea'd  of  a  -family,  and  mostly  by  him  alone, 
at  the  neighbouring  gin-palace  round  the 
corner,  which  furnishes  his  only  idea  of 
comfort  and  pleasure. 

But  let  us  pass,  for  a  moment,  from 
considering  the  life  of  men  in  these  huge 
cities  to  that  of  the  lower  animals — horses, 
cows,  and  dogs. 

I   have  already  spoken   of  horses   at  the 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  17 

commencement  of  this  essay.  A  similar 
story  may  be  told  of  the  cows.  They, 
too,  are  killed  off  prematurely,  and  do  not 
last  a  third  part  of  the  time  that  they 
would  last  in  the  country  or  in  a  small 
town.  We  all  know  the  pitiable  condi- 
tion of  a  dog  that  lives  in  London. 

I  proceed  now  to  a  consideration  which 
concerns  the  inanimate  world.  That  famous 
man,  Count  Rumford,  used  to  estimate 
the  number  of  millions  of  chaldrons*  of 
coals  which  were  suspended  in  the  atmo- 
sphere of  London,  and  to  dwell  upon  the 
mischief  which  was  caused  to  furniture  by 
this  pall  of  smoke  when  it  descended  But 
there  are  other  special  causes  of  injury, 
such  as  dust  and  chemical  emanations  of 
all  kinds.  The  result  is,  that  everything- 
in  such  a  city  as  London  soon  loses  all 
bloom  and  freshness ;  and,  indeed,  is 
rapidly  deteriorated.  The  more  beautiful 
the  thing,  the  more  swifl  and  fatal  is  this 
deterioration.     I   would  venture  to  make  a 

calculation  as  regards  the  injury  of  property 

c 


i8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

in  London,  caused  not  by  reasonable  wear 
and  tear,  but  being  the  result  of  the  agglo- 
meration of  too  many  people  on  one  spot 
of  ground.  I  should  not  think  it  would 
be  less  than  three  or  four  millions  of  pounds 
per  annum. 

There  is  another  very  subtle  cause  for 
this  deterioration.  It  is  in  the  hopelessness 
which  gradually  besets  all  people  in  a  great 
town  like  London,  of  keeping  anything  clean. 
I  was  always  very  much  touched  by  that 
story  which  some  philosophic  sanitary  ob- 
server made  known  to  the  public,  and  which 
I  have  told  you  before.  He  noticed  how  a 
young  woman,  who  had  come  from  the 
country,  and  was  living  in  some  miserable 
court  or  alley,  made  for  a  time  great  efforts 
to  keep  that  court  or  alley  clean.  But, 
gradually,  day  by  day,  the  efforts  of  that 
poor  woman  were  less  and  less  vigorous, 
until  in  a  few  weeks  she  became  accustomed 
to,  and  contented  with,  the  state  of  squa- 
lor which  surrounded  her,  and  made  no 
further   efforts  to   remove  it.     We  who  live 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  19 

in  London  are  for  the  most  part  like  that 
poor  woman.  A  great  many  of  us  have 
come  up  from  the  country;  and,  at  first, 
we  partake  her  feeHngs  as  to  the  joy  and 
beauty  of  cleanliness ;  but  the  atmosphere 
we  live  in  is  too  strong  for  us.  Who  can 
resist  the  atmosphere  !  We  gradually 
subside  into  living  contentedly  amidst 
dirt,  and  seeing  our  books,  our  pictures, 
our  other  works  of  art,  and  our  furniture, 
become  daily  more  dirty,  dusty,  and  degene- 
rate. 

One  point  m  reference  to  this  matter  I 
must  especially  dwell  upon,  and  that  is,  the 
serious  injury  to  buildings  occasioned  by  this 
atmosphere.  Certain  kinds  of  architecture 
ought  to  be  considered  as  impossible  in 
London.  All  that  is  delicate  and  refined  is 
so  soon  blurred,  defaced,  and  corroded  by 
this  cruel  atmosphere,  that  it  is  a  mockery 
and  a  delusion  to  attempt  fine  work.  There 
ought  to  be  a  peculiar  kind  of  architec- 
ture for  such  a  metropolis — large,  coarse, 
and    massive,  owning    neither   delicacy  nor 


20  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

refinement,  and  not  admitting  minute  deco- 
ration of  any  kind. 

And,  again,  even  that  coarse  work  requires 
to  be  executed  in  the  hardest  material,  other- 
wise the  corrosion  Is  so  great  as  to  cause  the 
need  for  constant  repair.  And,  while  speak- 
ing of  repairs  and  decorations,  it  must  be 
known  to  every  householder  in  London  how 
frequent  Is  the  necessity  for  painting  and  for 
repairs,  when  compared  with  what  is  requi- 
site where  the  atmosphere  is  less  impure. 

Now  it  Is  easy  to  state  all  these  evils  :  It  is 
very  hard  to  find  a  remedy.  Still,  with  such 
an  ingenious  creature  as  man,  the  remedy  is 
seldom  far  off  when  the  evil  is  known  and 
thoroughly  appreciated. 

EUesinere.  Please  stop  here.  I  see  from  the  bulki- 
ness  of  that  part  of  the  manuscript  which  still  remains 
unturned  that  you  have  a  great  deal  more  to  read. 
The  powers  of  the  human  mind  are  limited  :  at  least, 
those  of  my  mind  are ;  and  if  you  wish  me  only  to  give 
an  inglorious  assent  to  all  you  propound,  you  will  exhaust 
that  formidable  manuscript.  But  if  you  wish  for  real 
criticism,  you  will  have  the  goodness  to  pause. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  21 

Sir  Arthur.  Yes  ;  I  think,  Milverton,  you  have  given 
us  enough  food  for  discussion  to-day. 

Milverfofu  I  am  quite  wilUng  to  stop,  if  only  out  of 
regard  to  the  limits,  according  to  his  own  confession,  of 
Ellesmere's  powers  of  mind. 

Cranmcr.  The  essayist  is  right,  I  think,  and  does  not 
in  the  least  exaggerate  in  what  he  has  said  about  the 
hindrance  to  business  arising  simply  from  the  great 
distances  in  large  towns.  A  similar  thought  has  occurred 
to  me  when  I  have  been  staying  in  some  small  foreign 
residenz.  It  seemed  to  me  that,  in  the  conduct  of  busi- 
ness, much  less  correspondence  than  is  required  here, 
would  suffice  to  do  the  same  work  there. 

Milverton,     Certainly. 

Ellesmere.  I  think,  Milverton,  that  you  would  be 
assigning  far  too  much  foresight  to  the  English  sovereigns 
you  spoke  of  at  the  beginning  of  your  discourse,  if  you 
were  to  assume  that  any  sanitary  reasons  formed  even 
part  of  their  fears  lest  their  metropolis  should  become 
too  large. 

Sir  Arthur.     I   don't   know   what   they  might   have  ■ 
thought,  but  I  am  certain  that  we  ought  to  think  of  the 
enormous  evils  which  the  vast  increase  of  population  in 
one  spot  may  produce,  and  of  the  difficulty  of  guarding 
against  them. 

Milverton.  I  am  quite  convinced  that  foresiglit  is  the 
rarest  thing  in  the  world.  Everything  is  against  it ;  and, 
moreover,  in   the  present  hurried    modes  of  life,  in  the 


22  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

great  pressure  that  there  is  upon  statesmen,  and  all  other 
men  of  business,  there  is  less  chance,  than  even  in  former 
days,  of  foresight  being  exercised. 

And  then  the  best  things  to  be  done  are  in  the  way  of 
improvement,  as  I  have  often  said ;  and  there  are  these 
forbidding  circumstances  attending  all  improvement 
— that  it  mostly  lacks  originality  ;  that  it  does  not  confer 
fame;  that  it  cannot  interest  mankind  as  a  new  project 
does,  however  absurd  and  irrelevant  that  may  be. 

Sir  Arthur.  Yes  :  there  is  no  book  which  tells  of  the 
achievements  of  the  Improvers.  They  are,  perhaps,  the 
most  useful  men  in  their  generation  ;  and  they  pass  from 
us  unhonoured  and  even  unheeded. 

Milvei'ion.  There  is  the  madness  of  believing  that 
everything  which  is  wanted  to  be  done,  can  be  done  by 
what  are  called  great  measures. 

EUesmere.     What  a  Conservative  you  are  ! 

Milverton.  I  am  the  least  conservative  of  mortal  men. 
Only  my  mind  always  goes  towards  construction,  or,  at 
least,  to  amendment,  rather  than  to  destruction  ;  and, 
therefore,  by  unobservant  and  shallow  persons,  such 
people  as  myself  are  always  put  down  as  Conservatives. 

EHesmere.  I  am  so  sorry  to  find  that  I  am  shallow.  I 
rather  supposed  myself  to  be — 

"  Though  deep,  yet  clear  ;  though  gentle,  yet  not  dull ; 
Strong,  without  rage,  without  o'erflowing,  full." 

In  fact,  exactly  resembling  the  river  that  the  poet  was 
describing. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  23 

Milverton.  The  "  great  measure  "  man  has  one  or  two 
objects  respecting  which  he  bores  on  throughout  the 
greater  part  of  his  life  ;  whereas  the  things  to  be  done 
in  the  way  of  improvement  are  multifarious  and  multi- 
tudinous. There  is  hardly  any  branch  of  human  eftbrt 
in  which  you  cannot  see  that  there  are  huge  improve- 
ments to  be  made,  and  those,  too,  in  the  first  requisites 
for  decorous  and  beautiful  hving. 

EUestncre.     I  suppose  that  improvers  are  rare. 

Milverton.  No,  they  are  not.  What  I  mean  to  say- 
is,  that  active  improvers  are  rare ;  but  that  the  men, 
who  see  what  improvements  might  be  made,  and  who 
desire  that  they  should  be  made,  are  very  numerous 
indeed.  There  is  an  immense  deal  of  common  sense  in 
the  world,  and  amongst  all  thoughtful  men  a  great 
desire  for  improvement. 

Ellesmere.  Here  we  have  a  sudden  change  of 
position  !  How  is  it  that  all  these  common  sensible 
people  do  not  act  with  more  effect  ? 

Milverton.  The  reason  is  obvious.  You  seem  to 
forget,  Ellesmere,  that  we  are  living  in  an  old  country, 
and  a  very  considerably  law-ridden  country,  and  where 
consequently  it  is  difficult  for  individuals  to  do  what 
they  see  ought  to  be  done,  and  what  they  ardently 
desire  should  be  done. 

There  is  nothing  like  having  a  practical  test  of 
theoretical  talk.  Since  you  have  taken  this  place, 
Ellesmere,  I  have  travelled  to  and  fro  in  the  railway 


24  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

several  times.  There  is  a  portion  of  land  that  we  pass 
by  on  tliis  Hne.  It  is  in  a  dei)lorable  condition. 
Sometimes  it  is  flooded.  The  roads  near  it  are  nearly 
lampless.  It  is  altogether  an  unkempt  place — a  kind 
of  "No-Man's  Land."  The  neighbours  lament  this 
state  of  things,  but  do  not  see  their  way  to  altering  it. 
There  are  crown-rights,  there  are  common-rights,  there 
is  no  municipality  which  can  lay  hold  of  this  land  ;  and, 
in  short,  it  is  almost  undealable  with. 

Now  something,  not  exactly  of  this  kind,  but  of  a 
similar  kind,  is  observable  throughout  this  country, 
and,  probably,  throughout  any  old  country.  What  you 
want  are  enabling  bills.  In  fact,  what  is  needed  is 
that  legislation  and  administration  should  go  hand-in- 
hand,  instead  of  being  dissevered,  as  they  so  often  are. 
One  is  afraid  to  talk  of  French  administration,  because, 
in  some  respects,  it  is  so  very  faulty,  and  so  deficient 
in  just  freedom.  But  that  state  of  things,  which  I  have 
just  described,  would  not  long  be  suffered  to  exist  in 
France.  There  the  despotism  of  the  french  Pre'fet 
would  come  in  well. 

Sir  Arthur.  In  this  subject  of  the  health  of  towns, 
building  of  all  kinds  naturally  forms  a  prominent  part. 
Now  it  is  a  remarkable  fact,  that  architects  and  builders 
seem  to  have  made  less  advance  since  the  time  of  the 
Romans  than  any  other  class. 

Ellesmere.  Perhaps  it  is  that  the  employer  seldom 
knows,  or  at  least  seldom  defines,  what  he  wants. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  25 

Cranmer.  There  is  also  the  system  of  leaseholds, 
which  must  be  very  prejudicial  to  good  building. 

Milverfon.  Then  there  is  the  diseased  desire  for 
uniformity.  Everything  must  be  made  to  correspond 
with  something  else, 

"  Grove  nods  at  grove,  each  alley  has  a  brother." 

There  is  but  little  harm  in  this  as  regards  rustic  groves 
and  alleys;  but  the  same  practice  is  fatal  to  comfort 
when  it  is  applied  to  building. 

Then  there  is  the  great  contracting  builder,  who  has 
occasionally  been  a  great  evil  in  modern  times.  He 
has  but  one  idea,  and  that  idea  is  made  successful 
by  uniformity  of  design.  For  cheapness'  sake  he  must 
have  a  thousand  windows  and  a  thousand  doors  made 
at  his  factory  exactly  alike;  and  he  works  upon  the 
principle,  or  rather  the  instinct,  of  the  lower  creatures, 
who  must  have  their  nests  or  cells  always  of  the  same 
form  and  dimensions.  Right  enough  for  them,  whose 
wants  are  ever  much  the  same,  but  not  for  man  with 
his  ever-changing  circumstances  and  his  immense  variety 
of  craving. 

Ellcsmere.  I  observe  that,  hitherto,  Mauleverer  has 
not  said  a  single  word,  good  or  bad,  in  our  conver- 
sation ;  and  I  certainly  did  expect  that  he  would  break 
out  when  Milverton  spoke  of  the  abundance  of  common- 
sense  in  the  world. 

Mauleverer.      It    is    useless    to    inlerru])t    enthusiasts. 


26  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

You  do  not  seem  to  perceive  the  irruption  of  vulgarity, 
and  consequently  of  stupidity,  which  has  come  upon 
mankind.  The  world  has  become  a  puffing,  advertising, 
quack-adoring  world.  Its  essence  is  of  the  shop, 
shoppy.  Its  main  object  is  to  buy  something  for 
three  farthings  and  sell  it  for  a  penny.  You  can't 
expect  anything  great  or  chivalrous  from  such  people. 
Milverton's  rage  against  competition  would  cease  if  he 
once  perceived  that  it  is  a  necessary  consequence  of 
the  vulgarity  I  speak  of.  You  can't  go  against  the 
Spirit  of  the  Age — it  is  too  strong  for  you.  I  am 
amused  by  your  talk,  but  it  js  not  worth  while  to 
interrupt  it  by  offering  the  objections  which  stern  facts 
would  present. 

EUesmere.  I  will  interpret  Milverton's  sigh.  It  was 
a  sigh  of  surprise  and  vexation  that  anybody  should 
indirectly  laud  past  times  so  much — chivalrous  times, 
when  everybody  persecuted  everybody — when  innumer- 
able people  were  hanged  for  small  offences  ;  and  when, 
to  go  further  back,  the  world  was  filled  by  what  may 
be  called  private  wars.  What  though  advertisements 
cumber  and  deface  all  railway  stations ;  what  though 
suburban  houses,  of  a  kind  of  architecture  which  can 
only  be  called  suburban,  are  built,  instead  of  grand 
cathedrals;  what  though  flourishing  tradesmen  become 
the  lords  of  the  world ;  what  though,  as  Mauleverer 
informed  ./ne  in  a  walk  yesterday,  there  is  no  fitting  place 
now,  in  any  part  of  the  world,  for  a  gentleman  to  live  in 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  27 

(he  might  have  excepted  Africa,  I  think),  I  still  have 
the  audacity  to  prefer  the  days  in  which  we  live,  to  those 
of  any  previous  period. 

Cranmer.  Quite  right  for  you,  Ellesmere ;  for,  as  we 
have  said  before,  you  would  have  been  beheaded,  or 
burnt,  in  any  of  the  choice  periods  of  history. 

Ellestnere.  And  what  would  have  become  of  the  rest 
of  you?  I  don't  know  any  man  more  certain  to  have 
been  burnt,  in  what  you  call  the  good  old  times,  than 
Milverton. 

Milverioti.  I  wish  you  would  not  go  on  with  this 
vague  and  useless  comparison  of  the  present  with  the 
past.  What  I  want  to  see  is  whether  we  could  not  make 
a  better  thing  of  the  present  and  the  future. 

Now  it  seems  to  me  that  he  would  be  the  greatest 
man  who,  in  this  age,  could  find  employment  for  the 
unemployed,  who  could  make  use  of  the  enormous 
amount  of  unused  faculty  in  the  world. 

Sir  Ari/iur.  Doubtless  that  would  be  a  grand  opera- 
tion. 

Maiileverer.     Yes  :  to  produce  a  host  of  busy-bodies. 

Ellesmere.  Nothing  is  more  unwelcome,  I  know, 
than  to  show  that  a  man  is  inconsistent.  I  am  about  to 
undertake  that  unpleasant  function.  Milverton  spoke 
just  now  of  the  quantity  of  common-sense  in  the  world; 
of  the  number  of  persons  who  would  be  improvers  if  only 
the  old  forms  and  usages  of  this  law- ridden  country 

Cranmer.     There  was  the  sting,  "  law-ridden." 


28  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

FJlesmere.     if  the  old  forms  and  usages  of  this 

law-ridden  country  did  not  prevent  these  good  people 
from  doing  this  good  work. 

Now,  if  there  is  anybody  who  is  dissatisfied  with 
railway  administration,  Milverton  is  that  person.  He  is 
always  pointing  out  to  me  signal  improvements  that 
might  be  made  in  that  kind  of  administration.  Yet  here 
are  some  of  his  common-sense  people — some  of  the 
people  who  would  do  such  marvellous  things  if  there 
were  Enabling  Bills  to  enable  them  to  do  so,  if  they 
were  not  law-ridden. 

Milverton.  I  am  not  in  the  least  degree  disconcerted. 
The  choice  of  those  people  is  made  in  the  way  that  I 
have  always  protested  against.  It  is  made  by  interest 
and  canvassing.  Men  who  have  some  portion  of  that 
wondrous  talent — the  first  in  the  world — namely,  the 
talent  of  organization,  are  not  found  out  in  this  way,  any 
more  than  they  are  by  competitive  examination. 

EUesmere.  Then  how  are  we  to  know  about  these 
masters  of  mankind  ? 

Milverton.  There  is  but  one  mode,  and  that  is  by  the 
appreciation  of  their  fellow-men.  I  do  not  contend  that 
this  will  always  discover  the  right  man ;  but  it  is  the  best 
mode  that  we  have.  And  what  I  do  contend  for  is,  that 
human  beings  are,  upon  the  whole,  very  good  judges  of 
other  human  beings.  You  see  this,  pre-eminently, 
amongst  boys  at  school.  The  boy  is  not  affected  by 
any  of  those  sinister  influences  which,  in  after  manhood, 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  29 

so  fearfully  interfere  with  his  right  choice  of  men  to 
represent  him  and  to  act  for  him  in  every  capacity. 
Looking  back  upon  my  early  days,  I  can  see  that  the 
boys  were  hardly  ever  wrong.  They  knew  who  was  the 
boy  who  had  firmness,  or  courage,  or  consistency,  or 
capacity.  Later  on  in  life  they  submit  to  all  those 
sinister  influences  to  which  I  have  alluded. 

I  believe  that  almost  the  greatest  improvement  we 
could  desire  for  ourselves,  and  for  our  fellow-men,  would 
be,  that  we  should  act  in  the  choice  of  men  with  that 
exquisite  sincerity  and  simplicity  with  which  boys,  and 
youths,  designate  those  who  should  be  pre  eminent 
amongst  their  fellows. 

You  taunt  me,  Ellesmere,  with  the  choice  that  is  made 
of  railway  directors.  Do  not  suppose  that  very  able  men 
are  not  occasionally  chosen ;  but,  as  the  choice  of  the 
main  body  is  made  upon  motives  and  influences  which 
ought  to  have  no  weight  in  the  choosing,  the  few  fit 
men  are  apt  to  be  overwhelmed  and  suppressed  by  their 
comrades.  I  think,  Ellesmere,  that  I  have  answered 
your  attack  upon  my  consistency ;  but  I  will  go  further, 
and  I  must  say  that  one  of  the  drawbacks  upon  judicious 
progress  in  this  present  age,  one  of  the  main  drawbacks, 
has  been  the  submitting  to  almost  mechanical  means 
that  great  function  of  the  choice  of  men  by  their  fellow- 
men.  \\\  earlier  days  there  was  a  most  careful  out-look 
maintained  by  eminent  people  in  high  position  to 
discover  and  discern  who,  amongst  the  youiig,  were  the 


30  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

right  persons  to  be  brought  forward.  The  fact  was  most 
discernible  in  politics ;  but  the  principle  upon  which 
political  choice  was  made,  was  dominant  also  in  other 
regions  of  thought  and  action. 

Sir  AriJnir.  I  quite  agree  with  you,  Milverton.  I 
remember  how  I  was  trotted  out,  to  use  a  horse  dealer's 
expression,  at  Holland  House. 

Milverton.  You  see,  Sir  Arthur,  the  natural  indolence 
of  men  favours  the  rise  and  progress  of  any  system 
which  should  enable  men  to  choose  from  among  their 
fellow-men  without  the  severe  labour  of  watching  and 
thinking.  I  knew  of  an  instance  in  earlier  days  in 
which  the  most  scrupulous  attention  was  paid  to  ensure 
the  good  choice  of  men  for  an  honorary  distinction.  The 
persons  who  might  be  considered  as  likely  to  be  candi- 
dates were  watched  beforehand  for  months.  Adventi- 
tious circumstances  of  all  kinds,  such  as  their  wealth, 
their  rank,  their  honours,  or  want  of  honours,  at  their 
universities,  were  studiously  disregarded.  The  only 
object  was  to  find  out  a  really  capable  man — and  those 
to  whom  the  right  of  choice  was  confided  generally  found 
him.  If  I  were  to  tell  you  whom  they  chose,  you  would 
admit  that  their  power  of  choosing  was  somewhat 
surprising.  That  sort  of  earnestness  and  sincerity  as 
regards  the  choice  of  men,  if  generally  carried  out, 
would  prove,  I  am  convinced,  a  greater  advantage  to  the 
world  than  almost  any  other  improvement  that  could  be 
named. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  31 

Ellesimre.  I  should  place  great  faith  in  the  choice 
made  by  animals,  who,  like  boys,  seem  to  me  to  dis- 
regard all  the  baser  influences.  /  never  feed  Fairy,  but 
she  always  prefers  walking  out  with  me  to  going  with 
anybody  else.  First  dogs,  then  boys,  then  girls,  then 
philosophers,  though  there  is  a  vast  interval  between  the 
sagacity  of  the  last-named  and  that  of  the  rest — these 
are  the  creatures  to  whom  I  should  entrust  the  choice  of 
men  to  fill  the  highest  situations.  So  Fairy  and  I  are 
going  out  together,  the  rest  of  you  may  come  if  you 
like. 

Craiimer.  Wait  a  minute.  I  know,  Milverton,  that 
you  would  thoroughly  dislike  any  inaccuracy  in  any 
statement  you  might  make.  In  your  essay  you  said 
something  about  the  increased  difficulty  of  curing 
wounds  in  hospitals,  and  you  attributed  this  difficulty 
to  a  continuous  deterioration  of  the  London  air.  Now 
I  believe  the  fact  is,  that  increased  observation  has  led 
medical  men  to  perceive  that  any  agglomeration  of  sick 
persons  has  an  injurious  elfect  upon  all  of  them,  and 
tends  to  prevent  rapid  cure. 

Milverton.  I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  right  or 
wrong  in  this  assertion ;  but,  at  any  rate,  I  am  very  glad 
that  you  have  made  it.  I  accept  it,  for  the  moment,  as 
a  correction. 

Maulei>ei'cr.  All  of  you  are  prone  to  accuse  me  of 
silence  during  your  discourse  ;  and  jou  assume  that  it  is 
a  malicious  silence.     I  really  cannot  help  differing  from 


32  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

you  all  intensely,  and  I  feel  that  anything  I  say  is 
thought  to  be  unsympathetic,  odd,  irrelevant. 

Elksmere.     Nevertheless,  say  on. 

Maulevercr.  I  do  not'  expect  that  you  will  agree 
■\vidi  me  in  the  least,  but  I  contend  that  the  main 
evil,  which  Milverton  has  been  discussing,  arises  from 
those  foolish  inventions  which  you  all  think  so  much 
of,  and  upon  which,  indeed,  you  pride  yourselves  as 
much  as  if  you  had  been  the  authors  of  them. 

A  shrewd  man  sees  a  kettle  boil,  and  others  adapt 
the  thing  called  steam  to  locomotive  purposes ;  and 
forthwith  every  fool  goes  everywhere,  for  what  he  calls 
his  holidays,  but  which,  indeed,  are  his  most  laborious 
days.  Ultimately  he  sticks  himself  down  in  a  place, 
where  he  finds  the  greatest  number  of  people  like 
himself.     Hence  these  huge  cities  ! 

Another  inventor  screws  light  out  of  coals — so  the 
people  turn  night  into  day,  which  is  a  very  bad  thing 
for  them ;  and,  moreover,  it  introduces  a  noxious 
element  into  their  houses  and  theatres. 

Another  fellow  contrives  something  which  enables 
one  to  talk  at  once  to  another  person,  however  distant 
he  may  be.  Now  the  majority  of  human  beings,  I 
suppose  you  will  own,  are  foolish.  It  is  very  un- 
desirable that  fools  should  communicate  much  and 
rapidly  with  one  another.  I  am  against  all  inventions 
but  one. 

Ellesmere.     Let  us  hear  what  is  that  one. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  33 

Mauleverer.  The  invention  of  anaesthetics.  I  must 
own  that  this  was  a  really  useful  invention.  Every 
other  has  been  noxious. 

Sir  ArtJiur.  He  is  not  so  far  wrong  about  the  effects 
of  rapid  a»d  easy  locomotion.  I  suppose  it  has  greatly 
aided  in  centralizing  population. 

Milverton.  It  is  useless  to  attempt  to  answer  such 
extravagance  of  statement,  when  it  merely  illustrates  the 
commonplace  remark,  that  nothing  is  wholly  good. 

Ellesmere.  Then,  I  suppose,  we  may  break  up  our 
conference,  as  it  appears  that  nobody  but  Sir  Arthur  is 
at  all  willing  to  accept  Mauleverer's  proposition  as  the 
true  solution  of  the  difficulty.  For  my  own  part,  I 
think  that  where  one  foolish  person  locates  himself, 
another  foolish  person  is  sure  to  wish  for  such  a 
neighbour,  and  to  locate  himself  there  too;  but  I  do 
not  lay  all  the  blame  of  this  upon  inventors.  Let 
us  not,  however,  waste  this  fine  day. 


CHAPTER  III. 

/^UR  next  meeting  was  again  in  the 
library.  The  benevolent  owner  of  the 
house  had  left  his  book-cases  open,  to  the 
great  delight  of  the  "  Friends,"  and  they 
were  walking  about  the  room  examining  the 
books. 

EUesnwe.  When  one  looks  at  another  man's  library, 
how  sure  one  is  to  find  lots  of  books  that  one  had  never 
even  heard  of.  Now  here  is  an  early  novel  of  Shelley's. 
After  you  went  to  bed  last  night,  I  read  a  great  deal  of 
it.  It  is  one  of  the  most  absurd  books  that  ever  was 
written,  full  of  stupid  horrors — Mrs.  Radclifi'e  run  mad. 

Sir  Arthur.  Except  in  the  case  of  the  greatest 
authors,  you  will  almost  always  find  that  even  an  author 
of  much  and  just  renown  has  written,  in  his  early  days, 
something  of  stupendous  absurdity. 

Milverton.  They  are  impressible  creatures.  They 
take  the  tone  of  some  previous  writer,  and,  having  no 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  35 

gift  for  that  kind  of  writing,  make  an  exaggerated 
copy  of  something  which  was  originally  bad  ;  for  good 
taste  is  a  thing  which  comes  by  long  cultivation. 

Sir  Arthur.  This  is  evidently  an  old  library,  which 
has  been  formed  by  successive  generations.  I  so  much 
regret  that  the  great  book  collectors  (except  in  America) 
seem  to  be  an  extinct  race. 

Milverton.  Ah !  that  is  indeed  a  misfortune  !  Any 
one  who  has  had  to  make  historical  researches  knows 
of  what  use  these  collectors  have  been.  They  have 
preserved  the  most  useful  records,  having,  perhaps, 
themselves,  no  other  motive  for  collecting  but  the 
appreciation  of  rarity  and  curiousness. 

Sir  Arthur.  People  do  not  love  books  now  as  they 
used  to  do. 

Milverton.     A  great  misfortune  ! 

Cranmer.     But  what  is  the  cause  of  it  ? 

Milverton.  I  think  I  can  tell  you  :  the  lending- 
libraries. 

Elks  mere.     I  don't  see  the  misfortune, 

Milverton.  I  do.  A  man  never  gets  so  much  good 
out  of  a  book,  as  when  he  possesses  it.  This  possession 
tends  to  accuracy.  A  man  now  tells  you  he  has  read 
something  somewhere  ;  but  his  knowledge  of  the  so- 
called  fact,  if  it  be  a  fact,  is  very  vague  and  uncertain. 
If  you  look  at  the  side-notes  in  manuscript  of  some 
book  possessed  by  our  book  loving  ancestors,  you 
will   be  astonished  at  the  quantity  of  accurate  know- 


36  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

ledge,  and  of  the  fitness  of  remark,  which  those  notes 
disclose. 

Ellesmere.  But,  my  dear  fellow,  only  think  of  the 
quantity  of  trash  which  that  man  would  possess,  who 
should  buy  every  book  that  he  reads  in  these  days. 

Milverio?!.  I  admit  that ;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  I 
think  it  is  often  a  pity  that  men  do  not  buy  those  books 
in  which  they  have  felt  the  least  real  interest.  They  are 
nearly  sure  to  wish  to  refer  to  them  again.  The  books 
are  not  at  hand ;  and  so  the  readers  miss  the  attaining 
and  securing  some  accurate  knowledge. 

Sir  Arihur.  In  the  estimation  of  collectors,  crockery- 
ware  seems  now  to  have  taken  the  place  of  books. 

Milverton.  If  we  are  to  take  a  walk  this  afternoon,  I 
must  ask  you  to  sit  down  and  hear  at  once  what  I  have 
to  say  in  that  portion  of  the  manuscript  which  you 
would  not  hear  yesterday. 

Previously,  however,  there  is  one  point  upon  which 
I  have  to  claim  your  indulgence.  I  have  often  spoken 
to  you  upon  matters  kindred  to,  or,  at  any  rate,  not 
distantly  connected  with,  my  subject  for  this  Easter. 
You  must  not,  therefore,  be  surprised  if  I  occasionally 
repeat  myself,  and  fortify  my  views  by  some  fact  which 
I  have  stated  before. 

There  is  a  time  of  life  when  one  is  chiefly  employed 
in  acquiring  facts  :  there  is  another  time  of  life  when 
one  is  chiefly  employed  in  applying  those  facts.  In  my 
early  days  I  was  never  satisfied  without  going  to  examine 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  37 

the  facts  for  myself.  I  have  visited,  unknown  and 
unobserved,  the  most  squalid  and  horrible  portions  of 
great  towns,  both  here  and  abroad.  I  have  practically 
made  myself  acquainted  with  drains  and  sewers  of  all 
kinds.  I  sometimes  wonder  that  I  am  alive  to  tell  the 
tale.  I  cannot  carry  on  these  investigations  any  more  ; 
and  I  only  make  this  statement  to  you  now,  in  order 
that  you  may  forgive  me,  especially  EUesmere,  for  doing 
what  I  know  he  particularly  dislikes — namely,  making 
reference  to  the  same  fact,  in  the  same  words,  which  he 
has,  perhaps,  often  heard  me  use  before. 

Mr.  ]\Iilverton  then  read  the  following : — 

Our  remote  ancestors  had  a  keen  idea  of 
the  evils  of  which  we  are  speaking ;  and,  in 
their  rude  way,  did  not  fail  to  attempt  reme- 
dies. There  is  a  statute  made  by  one  of  our 
earliest  parliaments,  of  which  I  am  sorry  to 
say  that  I  do  not  remember  the  whole  sub- 
stance and  purport,  but  it  begins  in  the 
following  manner:  "  Si  homme  fait  candells 
dens  ung  vill ;  "  and  it  goes  on  afterwards 
to  restrict  as  much  as  possible  the  man  who 
makes  "candells"  from  causing  nuisance 
and  mischief  to  his  immediate  neighbours. 


38  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

There  might,  in  modern  times,  be  a  good 
many  acts  of  Parliament,  having  for  their 
object  one  similar  to  that  of  the  old  Anglo- 
Norman  act,  the  beginning  of  which  I  have 
quoted  just  now.  They  might  also  begin 
in  the  same  charmingly  abrupt  way:  "Si 
homme  nourrit  pores,  or  vaches  de  milk,  or 
vends  oysters,  he  shall  be  bound  to  prevent 
his  trade  from  becoming  noxious  to  his 
neighbouring  fellow-mortals." 

Now  it  will  astonish  most  of  my  hearers 
that  I  have  included  the  vending  of  oysters 
amongst  noxious  trades ;  and  what  I  am 
going  to  narrate  will  show  how  needful  it 
is  to  watch  carefully  over  even  small  trans- 
actions in  human  life,  when  these  transac- 
tions take  place  amidst  a  great  agglomera- 
tion of  human  beings.  At  a  former  time, 
when  this  country  was  threatened  by  an 
invasion  of  cholera,  a  committee  of  persons 
was  formed,  who  were  supposed  to  have 
some  skill  in  sanitar)^  science,  to  report  to 
the  Government  of  the  day  what  measures 
should,    in    the   opinion    of  this   committee, 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  39 

be  adopted  to  prevent,  or  mitigate,  the  evils 
of  this  disease.  I  was  one  of  those  persons. 
Naturally  we  were  glad  to  have  evidence 
from  the  police  of  London,  who  know  more 
of  what  goes  on  amongst  the  people  than 
any  other  persons.  We  found  that  a  most 
deadly  fever  had  originated  from  the  pre- 
mises of  one  of  the  greatest  vendors  of 
oysters  in  the  centre  of  the  metropolis. 
Attached  to  his  premises  there  was  a  large 
subterranean  place  where  he  deposited  his 
oyster-shells.  This  place  was  connected 
with  the  sewers.  The  small  portions  of 
animal  matter  left  in  the  under  shells  became 
putrescent ;  and,  from  the  huge  mass  of 
them  which  had  accumulated  in  that  sub- 
terranean place,  there  finally  arose  a  stench 
of  the  most  horrible  nature,  which  came  up 
through  all  the  neighbouring  gratings,  and 
most  probably  into  some  of  the  neighbour- 
ing houses.  Many  of  the  houses  in  London 
are  so  ill-provided  with  traps  and  other 
means  of  separation  from  the  sewers,  that, 
in   certain    states  of  the   atmosphere,  these 


40  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

houses  are  but  vertical  portions  of  the  hori- 
zontal sewers. 

Now  does  not  this  one  fact  show  what 
constant  vigilance  it  requires  to  preserve  the 
public  health  in  a  great  city  ?  It  must  be 
remembered,  a  fact  I  would  impress  upon 
my  hearers,  that,  in  a  great  city,  everything 
has  to  be  made  outwardly  decorous.  And 
this,  which  seems  at  first  so  good  a  thing, 
is  in  reality  an  immense  disadvantage.  For 
the  evil  you  see,  you  can  guard  against, 
or,  at  least,  you  know  about  It ;  but  who,  in 
a  great  city,  knows  the  pitfalls,  as  It  were, 
of  disease  which  are  in  waiting  for  his  finer 
senses,  though  not  submitted  to  his  eyesight  ? 
The  danger  from  the  accumulation  of  these 
oyster-shells  was  not  known  to  myself,  or 
even  to  any  of  my  colleagues,  versed  as  they 
were  In  sanitary  matters.  Of  course  I  can-, 
not  prove  that  this  fever  was  the  result  of 
this  accumulation  of  shells,  but  I  believe  it 
was,  and  such  was  the  belief  of  those  persons 
who,  at  that  time,  investigated  the  matter. 

Surely,  it  would  not  be  too  much  to  say 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  41 

that,  in  the  present  time,  restrictions  should 
.be  made,  similar  to  those  which  exist  in  the 
old  act  from  which  I  have  quoted,  and 
which  might  exist  in  the  acts  I  have  ima- 
gined, that  might  gradually  have  the  effect 
of  removing  all  noxious  trades  from  London 
and  its  immediate  vicinity.  I  know  that 
this  might  be  thought  to  militate  against 
what  are  called  sound  notions  of  political 
economy;  and  I  say  to  you  now,  as  I  have 
said  to  you  before,  almost  in  the  same 
words,  that  he  would  be  a  bold  man  who 
should  venture  to  declare  upon  what  sub- 
ject of  human  thought  and  endeavour  the 
greatest  nonsense  has  been  talked  and 
written.  I  will,  however,  "  hazard  a  wide 
solution,"  and  boldly  maintain  that  it  is 
upon  political  economy  that  the  greatest 
nonsense  has  been  said  and  written.  I  know 
the  potent  claims  of  theology  in  this  respect 
— of  the  great  claims  also  of  law,  of  medi- 
cine, of  love,  of  art ;  but  then  these  have 
been  perennial  subjects,  whereas  political 
economy   is   a   creature  of    modern    times; 


42  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

and,  considering-  the  short  period  during 
which  it  has  made  a  noise  upon  this  earth, 
it  must,  I  think,  be  confessed  that  more 
nonsense  has  been  written  and  talked  about 
it  than  about  anything  else. 

Now  the  political  economist  has  a  great 
horror  of  what  he  calls  "  Paternal  Govern- 
ment." He  says  this  paternal  government 
was  all  ver}^  well  in  former  ages,  bar- 
barous ages,  when  men  were  few  upon  the 
face  of  the  earth  ;  but  it  has  no  claim  to 
be  here  now.  We  have  done  with  all  that 
kind  of  thing.  "  That  Supply  will  follow  De- 
mand," and  "  Let  the  buyer  beware,"  are  our 
maxims  now.  On  the  contrary,  I  venture  to 
declare  a  maxim  which  I  believe  to  be  true, 
namely,  that  never  is  paternal  government 
so  needful,  as  when  civilization  Is  most 
advanced. 

The  more  advanced  the  civilization,  the 
less  powerful  is  the  individual,  and  the 
more  he  requires  to  have  a  careful  father 
who  should  look  after  him  and  befriend 
him.       He    has    become,    as     I    intimated 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  43 

before,  a  part  of  a  machine ;  and  there  is 
great  need  that  the  regulator  of  the  machine 
should  be  a  -  living,  acting,  forcible  crea- 
ture, who  should  have  a  feeling  for  all 
the  separate  parts  of  the  machine  he 
regulates. 

To  drop  all  metaphor,  does  not  a  human 
being  living  in  a  great  town  like  London, 
require  that  the  State  should  fight  his 
battle  against  a  thousand  opposing  intcests 
with  more  vigour  and  more  prescience  than 
when  he  is  a  powerful  unit  in  a  small  com- 
munity ? 

We  have  been  considering  what  should 
prevent  the  ingress,  into  such  great  towns 
as  London,  of  noxious  trades,  or  facilitate 
their  egress.  This,  however,  is,  of  course, 
but  a  small  part  of  the  question.  The 
main  object  is  to  see  what  can  be  done 
to  render  this  vast  agglomeration  of  ani- 
mate and  inanimate  beings  less  embarrass- 
ing and  injurious.  The  first  thing  that 
must  occur  to  almost  every  mind  is  the 
necessity  for   preserving   open    spaces,   and 


44  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

even  of  creating-  them.  A  great  philan- 
thropist has  lately  astonished  the  world  by 
giving  it  large  sums  of  money  during  his 
lifetime.*  The  purposes  to  which  he 
devoted  that  money  are  admirable.  But 
perhaps  even  a  larger  and  more  beneficent 
purpose  would  be  found  in  the  creation 
of  open  spaces.  London  is  often  likened 
to  Babylon ;  but  the  similitude  is  a  very 
unjust  one  as  regards  the  city  of  Nitocris 
and  Semiramis,  for  Babylon  had  just  what, 
in  its  densest  parts,  is  deficient  in  London. 
We  are  told  that  Babylon  contained  within 
its  walls  land  sufficient  for  agricultural 
purposes  to  enable  the  inhabitants  of  that 
city  to  be  fed  by  those  resources  during 
a  siege.  We  are  also  told  that  there  were 
such  breaks  of  continuity  within  the  city, 
that,  upon  its  being-  taken  by  Cyrus,  the 
inhabitants  of  some  parts  of  the  city  were 
not  aware  for  several  days  of  its  having-  been 


*  This  portion  of  the  essay  was  prepared  while  Mr.  Peabody, 
who  was  a  dear  and  much  valued  friend  of  Mr.  Milverton, 
was  alive. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  45 

taken.  Granted  that  these  statements  are 
exaggerations,  it  is  still  but  fair  to  con- 
jecture that  Babylon  was  a  city  entirely 
different  from  London  in  the  number  and 
extent  of  its  open  spaces. 

Damascus  affords  another  instance  of  a 
great  city,  one  of  the  oldest  in  the  world, 
which,  from  the  presence  of  large  gardens 
within  its  boundaries,  forms  a  most  pleasing 
contrast  to  London  and  other  modern  cities. 

Another  evil  of  great  towns  is  noise. 
There  is  the  common  proverb,  that  "half 
the  world  does  not  know  how  the  other 
half  lives,"  which  perhaps  would  be  a  more 
effective  saying,  if  the  word  suffers  were 
substituted  for  'lives.'  It  is  probable  that 
there  is  no  form  of  human  suffering  which 
meets  with  less  sympathy  or  regard  from 
those  who  do  not  suffer  from  it,  than  the 
suffering  caused  by  noise. 

{Ellesmcre.     Hear,  hear.) 
The    man     of    hard,    well  -  strung,    healthy 


46  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

nerves  can  scarcely  Imagine  the  keen  dis- 
tress which  men  of  sensitive  nerves  endure 
from  ill-regulated  noise — how  they  literally 
quiver  and  shiver  under  it.  Now,  of  course, 
the  larger  the  town,  the  more  varied  and 
the  more  abundant  is  the  noise  in  it.  Even 
the  domestic  noises  are  dreadful  to  the  man 
of  acute  nervous  sensibility.  If  he  is  a 
father  of  a  family,  he  learns  to  bear  with 
something  like  fortitude  the  practising  of  his 
own  daughters  on  the  piano  ;  but  it  seems 
hard  that  he  should  have  to  hear  the 
practising  of  his  neighbours'  daughters  on 
that  formidable  instrument;  and  when,  for 
the  sixth  time,  he  hears  C  flat  instead  of 
C  sharp  played  in  an  adjacent  house,  he 
is  very  apt  to  be  distracted  from  his  work, 
and  very  much  inclined  to  utter  unbecoming 
language.  This  is  but  a  single  instance 
of  the  terrors  and  horrors  of  ill-regulated 
noise ;  but  in  a  huge  town  such  as  London 
or  Paris,  similar  noises  abound  of 'a  multi- 
farious description.  It  has  always  greatly 
surprised  me  that  so  much  intellectual  work 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  47 

is  done  so  well  as  it  Is  done  in  these  huge 
cities. 

An  answer,  apparently  a  ready  answer, 
can  be  made  to  this  remark  by  any  one,  if 
such  a  one  there  be,  who  cares  to  defend 
these  large  masses  of  population.  He  would 
say,  "The  evil  you  complain  of  is  not 
confined  to  great  towns  ;  but  exists  in  all 
towns."  Yes,  I  reply,  to  a  certain  extent; 
but  not  in  such  multifarious  and  oppressive 
variety;  nor  even  v/ith  such  intensity;  for 
it  may  be  observed  that  in  these  very 
large  towns  building  is  of  a  very  rapid 
growth,  and  is  less  substantial  than  else- 
where. 

This  brings  me  to  another  branch  of 
the  subject,  and  a  very  important  one.  In 
these  great  towns,  as  it  has  before  been 
intimated,  there  are  very  few  homes  for 
those  of  the  richer  classes.  In  fact,  almost 
all  their  houses  must  be  looked  upon,  to 
a  certain  degree,  as  offices — offices  for 
pleasure,  if  not  for  business.  Consequently, 
hardly  any  inhabitant  of  these  very  great 


48  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

towns  has  cared  to  build,  or,  even  if  he 
has  cared,  has  been  able  to  build,  a  house 
as  if  it  were  to  be  his  home.  We  are 
all  living-  in  London  somewhat  like  soldiers 
in  tents,  or  like  Eastern  travellers  in 
caravanserais.  It  was  a  shrewd  remark 
of  a  very  shrewd  man,*  that  if,  for  a  short 
time,  on  account  of  foreign  occupation  or 
some  other  cause,  London  were  to  be 
abandoned  by  its  population,  it  would  fall 
during  that  time  into  a  state  of  ruin  which 
would  astonish  the  world.  This  unsub- 
stantiality  tends  very  much  to  aggravate 
many  of  the  evils  we  have  been  consider- 
ing ;  and  it  is  consequent  upon  the  large- 
ness, the  unwieldiness,  and  the  temporary 
nature  of  habitation  in  these  great  centres 
of  population. 

The  worst  and  most  disheartening  point 
with  regard  to  providing  remedies  for  the 
improvement  of  great  modern  towns  is 
this — namely,    that   the    course    of    modern 

*  Sir  Henry  Taylor. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  49 

thought  and  modern  life  is  set  against 
these  improvements.  The  tendency  is  more 
and  more  to  promote  individual  effort  with 
a  view  to  individual  comfort  and  individual 
wealth.  It  was  not  always  so,  or,  at  least, 
not  always  so  to  the  same  extent.  The 
existence  of  great  cathedrals  is  a  proof 
of  this  statem.ent.  These  cathedrals  are, 
according  to  our  modern  notions,  greatly 
disproportionate  to  the  houses  and  the 
mode  of  life  generally  of  those  pious  men 
who  erected  such  cathedrals.  It  is  evident 
that,  in  their  time,  the  efforts  to  be  made 
for  some  great  public  purpose,  were  held 
to  be  of  the  first  necessity ;  and  we  can 
hardly  doubt  that  if  those  great  men  of 
the  olden  time  had  possessed  the  sanitary 
and  scientific  knowledge  which  we  possess 
in  these  days,  they  would  have  found  time, 
money,  and  labour  to  provide  for  the  great 
requisites  of  life  when  numbers  of  persons 
are  living  together  in  close  community. 

When  they  did  perceive  that  such  things 
were  requisite,   we   have   reason    to  believe 


50  SOCIAL  JPRESSURE. 

that  they  did  not  hesitate  to  embark  in  the 
greatest  undertakings.  For  instance,  the 
embankment  of  the  Thames,  a  work  of  the 
greatest  magnitude,  was  undertaken  at  such 
an  early  period  of  English  or  British  history, 
that  no  historical  records  remain  of  this 
great  transaction.  We  can  only  discern 
that  It  has  been  done :  we  cannot  say 
v/hen,  or  by  whom,  It  was  done. 

Now  there  are  many  persons  who  will  at 
once  say  that  it  is  Utopian  and  chimerical 
even  to  hope  that  a  change  may  come  over 
the  spirit  of  our  dream  as  to  what  should 
be  some  of  the  first  objects  in  life.  We 
think,  conceited  creatures  as  we  are,  that 
there  is  no  life  that  can  be  lived  so  skilful 
and  judicious,  and,  above  all,  so  comfortable, 
as  that  which  our  present  modes  of  thought 
render  almost  inevitable.  I  really  believe 
that  there  are  many  amongst  us  who  think 
that  if,  amidst  the  myriads  of  planets  with 
w^hich  the  universe  Is  probably  peopled, 
there  Is  one  which.  In  Its  physical  history 
and    circumstances,    closely   resembles    our 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  51 

own,  things  must  have  gone  on  in  that 
planet  much  as  they  have  in  ours ;  and 
that,  at  a  period  in  its  history  correspond- 
ing to  the  present  one  in  ours,  its  in- 
habitants will  have  come  to  the  conclusion 
that  effort  for  the  individual  is  everything, 
and  for  the  State  nothing. 

But  I  venture  to  imagine  that  it  is  not 
so.  And,  even  in  this  planet,  should  there 
come  again  a  great  soul,  one  of  those  beings 
•  who  makes  his  appearance  about  once  in  a 
thousand  years,  he  might  propound  ideas 
which  should  shiver  into  atoms  some  of  our 
present  most  potent  ideas ;  and,  especially 
with  reference  to  this  subject,  might  con- 
vince the  world  that  the  first  thing  to  be 
done  when  any  great  number  of  people  are 
congregated,  or  are  to  be  congregated,  in 
any  one  spot,  is  that  provision  should  be 
made,  both  at  the  outset,  and  also  by  con- 
tinuous and  consecutive  effort,  for  those 
great  requisites,  without  which  in  great 
towns  the  life  of  man  will  always  be  bar- 
barous, squalid,  and  most  unsatisfactor}^ 


52  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

It  is  to  be  noticed  that  our  present  ideas 
of  life  do  not  furnish  the  means  of  enabling- 
us  to  construct  great  cities  (even  when  we 
have  the  beginning  of  the  work  in  our  own 
hands)  with  the  primary  requisites  for  health, 
beauty,  comfort,  and  grandeur.  As  a  proof 
of  this,  I  may  cite  such  a  town  as  New  York, 
in  which  we  are  told  that  disease  and  squalid 
miser}^  of  all  kinds  are  as  abundant,  and, 
for  the  most  part,  as  unchecked,  as  they  ever 
were,  or  are,  in  any  of  the  great  towns  of 
the  Old  World. 

I  will  now  say  something  to  which  I  espe- 
cially entreat  attention,  because  I  think  it 
goes  to  the  root  of  the  matter.  Why  do 
men  desire  individual  prosperity  so  much  ? 
It  is  seldom  for  themselves.  The  founders 
of  great  fortunes  and  great  families  are 
mostly  men  of  very  simple  habits,  and  with 
very  little  inclination  for  expense..  In  fact, 
they  have  had  no  time  or  thought  to  spare 
for  indulging  in  expense.  Expensive  habits 
occupy  time.  Now,  why  is  it  that  these 
men,  and,  indeed,  almost   all  working  men 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  53 

in  modern  communities,  are  anxious  to 
accumulate  fortunes?  It  Is  for  their  chil- 
dren. And  why  do  they  desire  it  so  in- 
tensely for  their  children  ?  It  is  not  always 
because  they  wish  to  make  those  children 
eminent  among  the  sons  of  men.  If  they 
were  probed  as  to  their  motives,  they  would 
probably  confess  to  you  that  they  think 
their  own  career  has  been  a  beautiful  and 
becoming  career — a  career  of  continuous 
labour,  and  of  continuous  command.  In 
their  "heart  of  heart"  (that  Is  the  proper 
way  of  making  the  quotation)  they  would 
desire  such  a  career  for  those  who  come  after 
them.  But  they  see,  and  have  generally  expe- 
rienced, the  hideous  difficulty  and  squalldity 
which  beset  those  who  are  placed  low  down 
in  the  world,  and  they  say  to  themselve.\ 
"  We  cannot  afford  to  work  much  for  the 
public :  we  must  provide  for  those  who  are 
our  issue."  For  example,  and  to  bring  this 
point  home  to  the  present  subject,  they 
know  the  degradations  and  the  horrors 
which  beset  the  poor  in  great  towns.     They 


54  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

know  the  immense  difficulty  that  it  is  for 
any  human  being,  without  capital,  to  ensure 
himself  a  living ;  and,  naturally  enough, 
they  direct  all,  or  the  greatest  part  of,  their 
efforts  to  insure  a  most  favourable  stand- 
point for  their  children. 

But  now,  for  a  moment,  exercise  your 
imagination,  and  conceive,  if  you  can,  a 
better  state  of  things  pervading  human  life. 
Imagine  that  there  were  no  such  depths  of 
degradation  as  are  to  be  found  in  great 
cities.  Every  improvement  that  is  made  in 
this  respect  would  diminish,  if  but  slightly, 
the  wild  desire  that  men  at  present  have, 
to  devote  themselves  to  family  interests. 

The  foregoing  must  not  be  confounded 
with  purely  communistic  theories.  All  I 
contend  for  is  this,  that  if  we  could  raise 
the  scale  of  comfort  in  the  humblest  portion 
of  the  community — if,  for  instance,  we 
could  prevent  the  extreme  squalidity  of 
great  towns — we  should  diminish  the  ex- 
cessive anxiety  which  parents  at  present 
feel    to    provide   good    positions    for   their 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  55 

children,  and  should  divert  a  little  of  that 
energy,  which  now  is  given  often  exclu- 
sively to  private  and  family  interests,  to 
the  public  welfare.  And  when  we  consider 
over  what  a  large  area  of  thought  and 
labour  this  impulse  would  act,  it  might  give 
us  a  hope  of  many  things  being  done  for  the 
public,  which  now  it  is  Utopian  to  imagine. 

To  return  for  a  moment  to  much  smaller 
questions,  there  are  many  modes  of  ren- 
dering modern  towns  more  beautiful  and 
comfortable  than  they  have  ever  been, 
which  have,  hitherto,  been  totally  neglected. 
For  example,  we  live  in  a  very  rainy 
and  a  very  capricious  climate.  Often,  for 
the  sick,  the  delicate,  and  even  for  the 
strong,  it  is  almost  impossible  to  take  much 
exercise  for  many  days  in  the  course  of 
the  year.  I  have  often  thought  that  in 
various  quarters  of  the  town  there  should 
be  raised  buildings  partially  covered  in, 
which  should  enable  those  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood to  take  exercise  with  freedom 
both  from  bitter  winds  and  driviirg  rains — 


56  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

in  fact,  an  elevated  kind  of  cloister.  To 
this  good  design  I  would  venture  to  add, 
that  some  amusement  and  recreation  ipight 
be  provided — especially  of  a  musical  kind. 
Such  a  proposal  is  just  one  of  those  things 
which  admits  of  great  ridicule  until  it  has 
been  carried  into  effect.  And,  then,  per- 
haps, everybody  would  acknowledge  its 
merits.  It  would  probably  counteract  the 
attractions  even  of  the  gin-palace,  which, 
I  think  you  will  admit,  gives  the  least 
amount  of  enjoyment  for  the  amount  of 
money  spent  in  it,  of  any  form  of  enjoy- 
ment which  has  ever  been  devised.  My 
hearers  will  estimate  the  force  of  this 
statement,  when  it  is  remembered  that  there 
are  not  even  seats  provided  for  the  fre- 
quenters of  gin-palaces.  They  stare  at 
unmeaning  ornament,  swallow  their  modi- 
cum of  liquor,  and  depart.  Now  one  of 
the  first  objects  in  providing  such  refresh- 
ments, should  be  to  make  them  occupy 
some  time.  If  not,  the  drinkers  return, 
perhaps  quickly,  for  more. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  57 

In  reviewing  this  essay,  I  feel  that  there 
are  many  topics  which  have  not  been 
touched  upon  at  all,  and  others  which 
have  only  been  slig-htly  noticed.  For  ex- 
ample, the  state  of  crime,  and  the  facilities 
afforded  for  crime,  in  these  huge  modern 
cities,  have  not  been  touched-  upon.  More- 
over, the  political  aspect  of  the  subject 
has  not  been  approached.  Yet  it  is  a 
very  sad  thing  to  consider,  that  such  is 
the  construction'  of  our  cities,  that  men 
cannot  meet  together  to  protest  against 
any  political  grievance,  real  or  imaginary, 
but  there  is  danger  of  riot  or  revolution, 
or  at  least  of  enormous  disturbance  to  the 
quiet  and  peaceful  inhabitants  of  the  city 
who  have  nothing  to  protest  against.  In- 
stead of  discountenancing  such  political 
manifestations,  or  allowing  them  to  proceed 
to  the  great  annoyance  and  hindrance  of 
those  who  do  not  feel  the  so-called  political 
grievance,  it  should  be  provided  in  a  free 
country,  and  especially  in  the  metropolis 
of  that  country,  that  its  citizens  should  be 


58  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

able  to  make  what  the  Spaniards  call  a 
Prouunciamicnto^  without  any  risk  of  dis- 
turbing the  public  peace,  or  of  impeding-  the 
ordinary  pursuits  of  those  who  do  not  wish 
to  join  in  the  ProniinciaDiicnto. 

EUesma-e.  I  am  very  sorry  to  say,  as  I  have  said 
before,  that  there  is  one  great  defect  in  human  nature — 
namely,  that  the  power  of  attention  in  any  human  mind 
is  a  limited  quantity.  At  any  rate,  it  is  so  with  me  j 
and  so,  after  listening  to  an  essay  which  has  lasted 
half  an  hour  in  delivery,  and  which  has  treated  of  at 
least  a  dozen  difficult  subjects,  I  am  dumb  from  sheer 
exhaustion  of  mind,  I  propose,  therefore,  that  we 
should  postpone  any  remarks  we  have  to  make  upon 
this  essay  until  after  dinner. 

Sir  John's  proposal  was  readily  agreed 
to  ;  and  we  then  separated  until  dinner- 
time. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

T  N  the  course  of  that  evening  Mr.   MIl- 
verton   asked   us   whether   we   had    any 
remarks  to   make  upon  his  essay ;  and  the 
conversation  thus  began. 

Sir  Art/nir.  Certainly,  it  is  a  most  serious  matter  for 
consideration,  this  increase  of  towns.  I  declare  I  think 
it  is  one  of  the  most  serious  in  the  world.  I  never 
thought  of  it  so  before.  Indeed,  I  am  ashamed  to  say- 
that  I  have  sometimes  taken  a  jesting  view  of  it,  and 
have  amused  myself  by  prophesying,  as  we  drove  into 
town,  how  this  ugly  lot  of  suburbs  would  join  with  that 
ugly  lot,  and  that  there  would  soon  be  one  continuous 
street. 

EUesmcre.  What  is  one  to  say  about  it  ?  One  likes 
to  make  a  sensible  remark  if  one  can,  but  I  find 
nothing  in  the  way  of  remedy.  Free  men  must  build 
where  they  like,  and  where  they  find  it  an  advantage 
to    build.     Business   always   tends   to   centralize   itself. 


6o  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Doctors  lierd  witli  doctors,  lawyers  with  lawyers, 
merchants  with  merchants;  and  they  choose  the  same 
grazing-ground. 

Milvcrton,  Then  you  see  everything  in  modern  times 
tends  to  a  certain  fixedness  of  place.  In  the  days 
of  the  Plantagenets,  all  the  functionaries  of  government 
were  more  errant,  including  the  king  and  his  court 
and  all  his  high  officers. 

Cranmcr.  Do  any  of  you  remember  a  very  elaborate 
clause  which  there  used  to  be  in  all  old  leases,  and  in 
which  were  to  be  found  such  words  as  "  lights,  ease- 
ments, privileges,"  arid  the  like  ?  There  were  a  whole 
host  of  such  words.  Now  admitting,  as  we  must 
perforce  admit,  that  the  main  part  of  the  evil  must 
go  on  increasing,  it  is  only  in  partial  remedies  that 
I  see  any  chance  of  our  mitigating  it. 

Milvcrton.  That  is  exactly  what  I  intended  to 
convey  to  you. 

Sir  Arthur.  People  fash  themselves  about  such 
dim  and  distant  dangers  as  the  supply  of  coal  failing  us ; 
but  I  see  now  that  this  rapid  increase  of  great  towns 
is  a  much  more  pressing  cause  for  apprehension. 

Milverto7i.  To  return  to  Cranmer's  "  lights,  ease- 
ments, and  privileges,"  I  never  see  a  foot  of  ground 
encroached  upon  that  might  be,  and  ought  to  be,  kept 
as  an  open  space  for  public  purposes,  but  it  makes 
my  heart  ache  for  future  times. 

Sir  Arthur.     Forethought  is  what  is  wanted. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  6i 

Milvertofi.  I  always  think  it  a  cruel  thing  for  the 
future  population  of  this  country  when  any  crown  land 
is  let  for  building  purposes.  That  land  should  be  held 
by  the  public  for  the  public,  due  compensation  being 
made  to  the  Crown  for  this  disadvantageous  use — dis- 
advantageous in  a  pecuniary  sense — of  its  property. 

I  wonder  if  any  benevolent  and  foreseeing  man  had 
long  ago  bought  and  dedicated  to  the  public  a  vacant 
space  of  ground  in  the  midst  of,  or  near  to,  a  great 
town,  and  had  bequeathed  money  to  maintain  this 
vacant  space  in  due  neatness  and  order,  whether  his 
bequest  would  have  been  maintained  intact.  I  fear 
not.  The  Church,  or  the  Sovereign,  or  that  department 
in  the  State  which  had  to  deal  with  education,  or 
Commissioners  of  some  kind  or  other,  would  have  been 
nearly  sure  to  seize  upon  this  wise  bequest,  and  to 
devote  it  to  alien  purposes.  Yet  it  may  be  fairly 
questioned,  whether  any  use  that  could  be  made  of  it, 
such  as  a  church,  a  palace,  or  a  school,  being  built 
u])on  it,  could  have  equalled  in  real  utility,  and  in  the 
benefit  to  be  conferred  upon  mankind,  that  of  leaving 
the  open  space  alone,  and  so  making  the  most  of  it,  though 
indirectly,  for  the  high  purposes  of  health,  education,  or 
religion.  The  future  would  have  been  nearly  certain  to 
be  sacrificed  to  the  present ;  for  the  spoliators  (such  I 
must  call  them)  would  probably  be  deficient  in  those 
powers  of  imagination  which,  if  duly  exercised,  would 
teach  men  that  one  of  tlie  grandest  objects  of  bcnevo- 


62  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

lence,  is  to  provide  for  the  future  these  vacant  spaces  in 
the  midst  of,  or  neighbouring  to,  the  great  centres 
of  population. 

EUcsvierc.  I  never  was  familiar  with  this  part  of  the 
country  before  I  took  this  house.  Since  I  have  been 
here  I  have  perambulated  the  whole  locality  ;  and  an 
idea  has  come  into  my  mind  of  which  I  think  our* 
essayist  will  thoroughly  approve.  By  the  way,  Mil- 
verton,  who  manages  all  the  Crown  property  about  here  ? 

Milverton.     The  Wood^  and  Forests, 

E/ksmere.  Then  I  wish  I  were  a  lord  of  the  Woods 
and  Forests,  and  I  will  tell  you  what  I  would  do.  Do 
you  know  that  ground  between  Kew  Gardens  and  the 
town  of  Richmond  ? 

Sir  Arthur.     Yes. 

Ellesmere.  I  believe  it  is  about  800  acres  in  extent. 
I  should  seize  upon  that,  and  use  it  at  once  for  public 
purposes.  It  would  be  a  very  good  thing  to  enlarge 
Kew  Gardens :  those  gardens  are  an  immense  delight 
to  the  public.  Among  other  things,  I  want  a  great 
vegetable  garden  to  be  made.  You  have  your  orchids, 
and  your  palms,  and  your  ferns.  I  do  not  grudge  them 
their  space.  You  have,  too,  your  "  hardy  medicinals,"  a 
most  useful  and  instructive  collection,  but  I  think  that 
my  imagined  vegetable  garden  would  be  even  more 
useful. 

Milverton.  I  am  quite  with  you,  and  I  am  very  glad, 
Ellesmere,  that  you  look  at  the  matter  so  seriously. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  63 

Ellesmcre.  I  have  still  much  larger  and  more 
audacious  ideas.  I  want  part  of  that  ground  for  a 
recreation  ground  for  the  people.  You  must  not  think 
me  vulgar ;  but  where  I  have  my  recreation  ground,  it 
must  be  recreation  in  every  sense  of  the  word.  The 
people  must  be  fed  as  well  as  amused. 

Cranvicr.  You  don't  mean  to  feed  them,  Ellesmere, 
at  the  public  expense  ? 

Ellesmere.  Pray  don't  be  so  utterly  prosaic ;  of  course, 
I  only  mean  that  they  should  have  the  means  of  pro- 
viding food  for  themselves.  This  cannot  be  done  in  the 
exquisitely-kept  gardens  of  Kew,  but  might  be  done  in 
the  ground  outside  it.     Then  there  should  be  music. 

I  believe  that  even  the  philosophers  and  grand 
botanists  who  come  to  delight  in,  and  be  instructed  by, 
the  plants  at  Kew,  would  often  wander  off  to  my  part  of 
the  added  grounds,  to  refresh  their  "  wearied  virtue."  I 
have  observed  that  philosophers  have  generally  good 
appetites.  Those  who  work  their  brains  are  mostly  of 
the  cormorant  species,  else  they  would  shrivel  up,  and 
degenerate  into  ordinary  mortals. 

But  now  come  with  me,  and  let  us  look  at  the  ground. 

I  declare  that,  if  I  could  afford  it,  I  would  rent  that 
ground  from  the  Woods  and  Forests,  and  lay  it  out  on 
my  own  account.  But  see,  wonders  will  never  cease. 
Milverton  is  getting  his  hat  to  come  with  us.  When 
that  man  has  an  object,  it  is  astonishing  what  ambulatory 
powers  he  can  develop.     Merely  to  enjoy  the  pleasure 


64  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

of  our  society,  he  wouldn't  walk  half  a  mile.  But  come 
along,  and  let  us  step  out.  The  ladies  will  come  with  us, 
too,  for  when  there  is  anything  like  festivity,  if  it  is  only 
to  be  imagined,  they  are  sure  to  be  to  the  fore. 

We  were  all  pleased  at  the  project  of 
this  excursion,  as  Mr.  Milverton  called  it ; 
and,  boldly  trespassing,  spent  a  very- 
pleasant  afternoon  in  those  grounds  which 
Sir  John  had  described,  and  which  we 
peopled  in  our  imagination  with  groups 
of  happy  holiday-makers,  who,  according 
to  Sir  John  Ellesmere,  were  to  be  "well- 
fed,  well-danced,  and  to  enjoy  themselves 
in  every  way." 


CHAPTER  V. 

T  T  may  have  been  noticed  that  in  the 
course  of  the  previous  conversations, 
Sir  John  Ellesmere  has  not  been  quite 
like  his  usual  self.  He  has  taken  fewer 
exceptions  than  he  was  wont  to  take,  has 
viewed  the  matter  in  hand  more  gravely ; 
and,  to  speak  with  plainness,  has  been  less 
tiresome,  as  a  disputant,  than  he  was  wont 
to  be. 

The  cause,  I  believe,  of  this  change,  is 
that  Lady  Ellesmere  has,  of  late,  been 
ailing.  It  seems  strange  to  me  that  this 
should  alter  a  man's  views  and  modes  of 
expression  ;  but  I  suppose  I  have  never 
been  in  love,  and  cannot  tell  what  It  is, 
to  be  dependent,  intellectually  speaking, 
upon  the  health  or  happiness  of  some  other 

F 


66  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

person.  However,  so  it  was  with  Sir  John. 
But  to  day,  in  his  walk,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Cranmer,  Mr.  Mauleverer,  and  myself, 
he  seemed  to  resume  a  great  deal  of  his 
former  gaiety  of  heart  and  perverseness  of 
opposition.     Lady  Ellesmere  was  better. 

It  is  almost  impossible  to  narrate,  accu- 
rately, vague  and  varied  talk.  But  one 
remembers  those  portions  of  it  which  are 
clear  and  distinct ;  and  where  the  subject 
matter  is  interesting.  I  cannot  tell  how 
we  came  to  the  point  at  which  Sir  John 
began  to  describe  a  character  which  he 
lauded  highly  ;  but  I  will  now  give  his 
own  words. 


Eihsffiere.  I  mean,  you  know,  the  man  who  looks  up 
to  himself. 

Cratwier.     An  egotistical  fellow  ! 

Ellesviere.  No,  Cranmer,  that  is  exactly  what  I  do 
not  mean.  An  "  egotistical  fellow,"  as  you  call  him,  is 
not  thoroughly  assured  about  himself.  He  presses 
forward  with  his  "  I,  I,  I,"  simply  because,  perhaps 
unjustly,  you  do  not  recognise  that  "  I  "  sufficiently.  But 
my  man,  who  looks  up  to  himself,  is  a  fellow  who  values 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  67 

his  own  opinions  extremely — not  because  they  are  his 
opinions,  but  because  they  are  portions  of  the  truth,  as 
he  deems  them  to  be,  and  because  he  has  formed  them 
with  much  care  and  labour.  It  is,  intellectual!}',  that  he 
looks  up  to  himself. 

Maulevcrer.  There  is  a  mysterious  and  indomitable 
pride  for  which  it  is  very  difficult  to  assign  the  origin. 
It  is  not  the  pride  of  birth,  or  rank,  or  riches,  or  beauty, 
or  intellect.  The  persons  in  question,  who  are  thus 
proud,  would  scout  the  idea,  and  with  justice,  of  their 
priding  themselves  upon  any  of  these  qualifications. 
The  truth  is,  they  are  proud  of  their  pride,  and  nothing 
more  can  be  said  about  it.  They  evidently  think  it  is  a 
fine  thing  to  be  proud. 

Elksmere.  No,  I  do  not  mean  anything  of  this  kind. 
My  man,  who  looks  up  to  himself,  may  not  be  a  proud 
man  in  any  way.  I  must  explain  further.  You  often 
read  about  and  hear  of  people  who  have  wonderful 
influence  in  their  own  circles.  You  may  be  nearly  sure 
that  they  are  men  of  the  kind  I  mean.  People  talk  of 
the  force  of  character,  generally  meaning  something 
moral ;  but  I  do  not  believe  that  what  is  moral  in 
this  case,  has  so  much  weight  as  what  is  intellectual.  Of 
course  there  is  high  morality,  to  begin  with,  in  the 
desire  for  truth ;  but  many  men  desire  truth  who  take 
but  little  pains  to  attain  it.     Now  observe  our  friend 

S (here  he  named  a  man  well  known  in  the  world), 

you  all  respect  him  \  you  all  like  to  hear  what  he  has  to 


68  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

say  upon  any  given  subject.  It  is  not  a  respect  for  his 
morality.  I  am  sure  I  don't  know  whether  he  is  a 
moral  man  or  not;  but  you  feel  intuitively  that  he  has 
thought  upon  what  he  talks  about;  that  his  are  no 
casual  remarks ;  and  the  man's  words  carry  weight. 
You  can  see,  too,  that  he  looks  up  to  himself;  that 
he  has  great  respect  for  his  own  intellectual  convictions. 
Such  men  rule  the  world. 

Crafwier.     And  deserve  to  do  so. 

Ellesmere.  Such  women,  too.  I  have  often  won- 
dered at  the  singular  influence  possessed  by  some 
women ;  and  I  have  always  found  that  they  were 
women  who  looked  up  to  themselves — not  necessarily 
brilliant  persons,  not  necessarily  witty,  but  original  (of 
course,  a  person  is  original  who  takes  great  pains  to 
form  his  or  her  convictions) ;  and  then,  as  most  women 
are  very  sympathetic,  this  combination  of  originality  and 
sympathy  makes  them  the  most  charming  companions — 
more  charming,  of  course,  than  men  of  the  like  self- 
respecting  nature,  because  such  men  may  not  be 
sympathetic,  whereas  the  women  are  nearly  sure  to  be 
so.  You  may  depend  upon  it,  that  Cleopatra  not  only 
sympathized  with  Anthony,  but  had  ideas  and  views 
of  her  own  which  greatly  interested  and  attracted  him. 
And  so  with  the  great  ladies  in  France  who  ruled 
certain  sections  of  society.  You  may  take  it  for 
granted  that  they  were  women  who  looked  up  to 
themselves.     We   have  had   fewer  of  such   women   in 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  69 

England — that  is,  ostensibly  ;  but  you  will  find  that 
in  most  circles,  even  in  remote  country  places,  there 
are  women  of  the  kind  I  mean,  who  have  immense 
power  in  the  form  of  influence. 

Johnson.  I  wish  that  Mr.  Milverton  had  been  Avith 
us.  I  think  he  would  have  agreed  with  all  you  have 
said. 

Crantner.  Tlien  EUesmere  would  have  differed  from 
him. 

EUesmere.  I  wish  that  we  could  get  Milverton  to 
treat  us  occasionally  with  some  other  subject  than  this 
Health  of  Towns  business.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
the  questions  he  raises,  such  as  the  limits  of  legislation 
and  administration — the  projects  he  has  for  beautifying 
towns,  for  enlivening  town  populations,  and  for  making 
all  official  people  wise,  prudent,  and  energetic — are  not 
exceedin.ly  interesting  to  the  graver  personages  of  our 
circle ;  but  I  am  a  frivolous  individual,  and  would 
sometimes  like  that  humbler  topics  should  come  before 
us.  I  can't  write  essays  myself,  but  I  flatter  myself 
I  am  "  a  dab,"  as  we  used  to  say  at  Eton,  at  suggesting 
subjects  for  essays.  I  would  rather,  however,  hear  what 
the  rest  of  you  would  suggest. 

Cranmer.  What  should  you  say  to  this — "An  Essay 
on  the  Meanness  and  Thoughllessness  of  the  very 
Rich  "  ? 

EHesmere.  I  can  only  say  that  if  Milverton  or  you 
Were  to  write  such  an  essay,  I  would  wri'e  a  counterpart 


70  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

on  the  "  Liberality  and  Thoughtfulness  of  the  Rich." 
The  rich  are  often  very  hardly  treated. 

Maulcvcrcr.  I  should  suggest  an  essay  "On  the 
Folly  of  Mankind" — as  to  whether  it  is  greater  or  less 
for  any  given  generation.  I  believe  it  to  be  a  constant 
quantity. 

Elksmere.  T  don't.  I  believe  that  the  philosophers 
of  each  age  are  equally  foolish ;  but  that  the  common 
people  gradually  increase  in  wisdom.  I  think  I  should 
rather  astonish  you  if  I  were  to  show,  as  I  think  I 
could,  that  there  are  theories  broached  now  by  those 
who  are  called  clever  men,  which  rival  in  folly  the 
dreams  of  the  philosophers  of  Laputa;  but  I  think  that 
my  grocer  of  to-day  takes  a  wiser  view,  at  any  rate,  of 
the  affairs  of  his  own  country,  than  my  grandfather's 
grocer  did  in  the  days  of  8eorge  III.  If  not,  the 
public  press  has  been  of  little  service  to  mankind. 

Crajimer.  I  do  believe  you  are  right  as  regards  your 
grocer,  though  totally  wrong  as  regards  your  philo- 
sophers. You  really,  Ellesmere,  do  not  know  enough 
about  science,  to  pronounce  against  scientific  men. 

Elksmere.  It  is  ahvays  a  feather  in  my  cap  when 
Cranmer  condescends  to  approve  of  any  part  of  anything 
I  say.  I  was  not  thinking  of  scientific  men,  when  I 
spoke  of  philosophers. 

Cranmer.  You  should  be  more  precise  then,  in  defining 
what  you  mean — especially  when  you  are  attacking  any 
class  of  people. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  71 

Mauleverer.  I  should  like  to  have  an  essay  on  the 
evils  of  "  Over-publicity,"  whence  it  comes  that  there  is 
nothing  left  now  which  is  really  private. 

Elksmere.  I  should  like  to  have  an  essay  on  the  "  Art 
of  Leaving  Off." 

Cranmer.     And  I  upon  "  Intrusiveness." 

Johnson.  I  am  afraid  you  will  all  laugh  at  me.  I 
should  like  to  have  an  essay  on  "  What  to  Read,  and 
How  to  Read  it." 

Ellesmere.  My  dear  Sandy,  nobody  is  disposed  to 
laugh.  Your  subject  is  a  very  good  one,  only  it  is  so 
brutally  big.  We  should  never  have  done  with  it.  I  tell 
you,  though,  who  could  -write  such  an  essay  admirably,  if 
any  one  could,  and  that  is  Sir  Arthur. 

Now  those  two  idle  men  we  have  left  behind  us, 
Milverton  and  Sir  Arthur, — what  a  ludicrous  contrast 
there  is  between  their  ways  of  study,  though  they  are 
both  of  them  book-worms. 

Cranmer.  That  is  not  a  nice  way  of  describing  one's 
friends. 

Ellestnere.  There  is  some  truth  in  it  though.  I  will 
bet  they  are  reading  now.  They  will  have  paid  due 
attention  to  the  ladies  ;  have  meandered  about  the  flower- 
garden  in  a  listless  way ;  have  said  fine  things  about  the 
shadows  on  the  water ;  and  then  they  will  have  gone  to 
their  books.  But  mark  the  difference.  It  is  quite 
uncertain  whether  Milverton  will  be  reading  a  treatise  on 
the  Differential  Calculus, — the  Blue-book  on  the  Bengal 


72  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Famine, — a  very  sensational  novel,  perhaps  French, — a 
lively  treatise  on  egg-shaped  drains, — a  German  grammar, 
— "  Watson's  Theological  Tracts," — or,  perliaps,  the 
Koran.  You  laugh,  but  you  know  that  my  description  is 
not  the  least  exaggerated.  No  person  on  earth  could 
make  a  tolerably  accurate  guess  as  to  what  that  man  is 
puzzling  or  refreshing  his  brains  over. 

Johnsoji:  You  have  not  succeeded,  Sir  John;  for  I 
happen  to  know  ^yhat  he  is  most  likely  reading,  as  he 
asked  me  to  get  him  the  book,  and  it  was  a  history 
of  the  gypsies,  with  some  account  of  their  language — a 
work  which  he  was  delighted  to  find  in  that  old 
library. 

Ellesmere.  I  told  you  no  one  could  guess  what  he 
would  be  at.  Now  look  at  the  other.  It  will  be  no 
accidental  thing  that  he  will  be  reading.  You  wouldn't 
catch  him  over  a  sensational  novel ;  whereas,  when 
Milverton  is  weary  of  his  gypsies,  he  will  probably  be 
found  reading  something  of  Dumas'.  Sir  Arthur,  on 
the  contrary,  will  have  a  steady  purpose.  It  wiil  be 
some  branch  of  history  that  he  will  be  mastering,  or 
some  class  of  high  poetry.  It  will  be  continuous, 
purposeful ;  and  he  is  the  man  whom  we  will  persuade 
to  write  that  essay.  Nobody  will  have  the  energy  to 
follow  his  directions,  but  that  does  not  matter.  We  shall 
hear  what  we  ought  to  do,  and  shall  have  the  pleasure 
and  the  satisfaction  of  neglecting  to  do  it. 

"  Gentlemen,"  as  my  tutor  at  Trinity  used  to  say,  "  I 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  73 

shall  expect  that,  by  Wednesday  next  (it  beuig  then 
Friday)  you  will,  by  yourselves,  have  gone  through  the  first 
three  chapters  of  '  Whewell's  Mechanics.'  I  shall  then  be 
ready  to  explain  any  little  difficulties  that  may  have 
occurred  to  you  in  the  course  of  your  reading."  Upon 
which,  having  three  clear  days  to  spare,  we  incontinently 
went  out  boating,  or  cricketing,  the  dark  background  of 
neglected  duty,  indicated  by  Whewell's  first  three 
chapters  on  Mechanics,  bringing  out  into  bolder  relief  of 
light  and  joy,  the  boating  or  the  cricketing. 

Hence  it  is  that  I  am  an  athlete,  and  can  vault  over 
that  gate,  where  none  of  you  dare  follow  me.  By  the 
way,  isn't  it  good  to  hear  Milverton  cry  up  the  virtue  of 
athletic  sports  as  he  sometimes  does — a  man  who  could 
not,  or  would  not,  leap  over  a  turtle  ?  What  an  insight 
it  gives  us  into  a  man,  when  we  know  his  private  hatreds. 
It  is  not  that  Milverton  loves  athletics,  but  that  he  hates 
furious  competition  in  intellectual  sports,  which  competi- 
tion he  takes  to  be  mischievous  as  regards  the  choice  of 
official  men  ;  and  so  his  darling  government  is  injured  : 
for  that  man  would  like  us  all  to  be  well-ruled — is  a 
despotic  animal,  with  the  claws  sheathed,  not  pared. 
Yes,  yes,  he  is,  Sandy ;  you  may  protest  as  much  as  you 
like  ;  and,  of  course,  it  is  your  duty  to  protest,  as  a 
faithful  private  secretary.  Private  secretaries  always 
imbibe  the  hue  of  their  master's  mind,  and  even  darken 
it ;  mean  minister,  meaner  private  secretary  ;  despotic 
minister,  more  despotic  under  private  secretary.     Sandy 


74  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

•would  have  us  all  hanged  upon  those  high  elms ;  nie  for 
daring  to  say  what  I  have  said,  you  for  daring  to  listen 
to  it,  and  Fairy  for  not  biting  my  legs  when  her  master's 
character  was  truly  drawn  by  me. 

I  am  not  sure  of  that,  though ;  I  mean  about  Fairy. 
Whatever  character  you  were  to  give  a  dog's  master, 
prove  him  to  be  thief,  scoundrel,  blackguard,  glutton — 
the  faithful  dog,  knowing  it  to  be  true,  would  still  admire 
and  love  his  master  not  one  whit  the  less ;  and  therefore 
would  not  care  to  bite  one's  legs  for  telling  the  truth 
about  his  master.  Dogs,  women,  and  cockatoos — I  have 
known  very  affectionate  cockatoos — are  the  only  creatures 
whose  love  is  worth  having,  who  are  somewhat  indifferent 
to  all  our  other  moral  qualities,  so  long  as  we  are  true 
and  kind  to  them. 

Mauleverer.  By  the  way,  Ellesmere,  do  animals 
appreciate  those  persons  who  look  up  to  themselves? 

Ellesmere.  Yes,  certainly ;  for  such  persons  are  apt  to 
be  decisive,  and  animals  have  a  singular  appreciation  of 
decisiveness. 

I  do  not  remember  any  more  of  this 
conversation ;  but  it  will  be  seen,  as  I 
said  before,  that  Sir  John  had  regained, 
for  the  moment,  some  of  his  usual  vivacity, 
and  his  fondness  for  attack. 


Los  Angeles.  Cat 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TJ^T'E  were  in  a  boat,  on  a  beautiful 
evening,  gliding  down  the  river,  and 
some  of  us  enjoying  both  the  motion  and 
the  scene  greatly.  But  there  were  others 
who  did  not  partake  our  enjoyment.  Mr. 
Milverton,  having  been  once  upset  in  this 
river,  has  taken  an  aversion  to  boating  ; 
and  Sir  John  EUesmere  never  could  abide 
it.  He  says  it  has  every  disadvantage 
that  can  be  thought  of.  You  can't  move 
about ;  and,  to  such  a  restless  being,  that 
must  be  very  painful.  You  are  exposed,  he 
says,  to  all  the  vicissitudes  of  a  capricious 
climate.  You  are  rained  upon,  or  fiercely 
shone  upon,  tortured  by  cold  or  worried 
by  heat,  without  the  power  of  protecting 
yourself  that   you    have  on   dry  land.     He 


76  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

becomes  quite  eloquent  in  his  terms  of 
disapproval.  You  are  either,  he  says,  a 
slave  at  the  oar,  or  a  serf  at  the  tiller, 
abused  by  everybody,  however  judicious 
your  steering  may  be  (he  had  once,  as  a 
steerer,  put  us  upon  a  sandbank,  from 
which  it  had  cost  us  great  labour  to  get 
off),  or  you  are  in  the  degraded  position 
of  a  sitter,  and  are  promptly  ordered  not 
to  lean  too  much  on  this  side,  not  to  sway 
over  too  much  on  that,  not  to  put  your 
hand  in  the  water,  if  you  please,  and  not 
to  crane  forward  to  look  at  anything 
which  may  be  worth  looking  at. 

Still,  the  ladies  liking  it,  and  the  rest 
of  the  gentlemen  being  on  their  side  of 
the  question.  Sir  John  and  Mr.  Milverton 
prefer  being  with  us,  to  being  left  alone  at 
home. 

We  had  talked  of  all  manner  of  things, 
but  in  a  charmingly  desultory  way.  We  had 
spoken  of  love :  how  it  is  the  oddest  thing 
in  the  world  in  this  strangest  of  worlds. 
We   spoke   of   that   extraordinary   book    of 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  77 

Hazlitt's,  the  "  Liber  Amoris,"  and  Sir 
Arthur  told  us  of  a  similar  case,  how  he 
knew  of  a  man,  one  of  the  first  men  in 
this  age,  who  was  in  love  with  a  girl  who 
had  no  merits  whatever  that  he  could 
perceive.  She  was  rather  plain,  she  had 
no  accomplishments,  she  had  no  powers 
of  conversation,  at  least,  that  he  could 
discover,  she  had  no  social  merits,  if  merits 
they  can  be  considered  to  be,  for  she  had 
neither  riches  nor  rank,  nor  high  birth, 
nor  pleasant  relations,  nor  anything  on 
earth  to  recommend  her.  Yet  the  great 
man  doted  upon  her. 

Then  Mr.  Milverton  spoke. 

Milverion.  Now  I,  for  one,  believe  that  man  to  be 
fully  justified  in  his  liking.  I  don't  think  he  is  the  fool 
that  you  suspect  him  to  be.  Character  is  a  thing  which 
has  deeper  indents  in  it  than  are  made  by  any  of  the 
adventitious  circumstances  that  you  have  adduced.  A 
woman,  or  a  man,  shall  have  no  beauty,  no  grace,  no 
knowledge  (what  you  call  knowledge),  no  accomplish- 
ments, and  yet  shall  be  a  profoundly  lovable  being. 
Now  imagine  that  tiiis  man,  whom  you  have  all  been 


78  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

rather  sneering  at,  should  have  an  almost  wild  love  of 
truthfulness  and  sincerity.  My  dears  (here  he  addressed 
the  ladies),  the  word  sincerity  alludes  to  the  waxen 
tablets  of  the  Romans — to  the  tablets  of  metal,  or 
other  substance,  before  the  wax  was  put  upon  them. 
All  these  fine  things,  these  accomplishments,  this 
knowledge,  that  power  of  talk  which  you  all  estimate 
so  highly, — 

EUes77icre.     Just  as  if  he  did  not  too. 

Milverton.  — are  mere  surface  things.  The  essential 
points  of  character  may  be  in  the  metal  underlying  the 
wax. 

Upon  that  ductile  upper  substance  anything  can  be 
written.  I  believe  in  the  insight  of  the  great  man  of 
whom  we  have  been  talking,  and  that  he  has  recognised 
in  this  somewhat  plain  girl,  a  character  that  was  essen- 
tially at  one  with  his. 

Ellesjtwe.     It  is  probably  an  entire  delusion. 

Milverton.  I  don't  care  about  that.  The  delusion  is 
as  good  as  the  reality.  I  am  accounting  for  the  man's 
love — not  for  its  rationality,  not  for  its  freedom  from 
error. 

Maulcverer.     You  can  never  upset  Milverton. 

EUesmcre.     Except  from  a  boat. 

Maidevercr.  But  what  I  mean  is,  that  if  you  conquer 
him  in  argument  about  a  reality,  he  flies  off  to  imagina- 
tion. 

EUesmcre.     Yes,   he   is   a   subtle   scoundrel :    that    I 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  79 

entirely  admit.  I  have  conquered  him  in  a  thousand 
arguments  ;  but  to  other  people,  especially  if  some  of 
them  have  been  women,  he  has  appeared  to  have  the 
best  of  it. 

Milverton.  Don't  let  us  talk  about  love ;  it  is  a 
subject  we  shall  never  agree  upon.  I  want  to  ask 
you  all  a  favour.  I  feel  that  my  lucubrations  upon 
serious  subjects  are  often  a  bore  to  you,  but  I  want 
you  to  give  me  one  more  hearing,  and  it  shall  be 
only  one.  You  think,  I  know,  that  my  mind  is  too 
fixedly  set  upon  official  matters,  upon  government, 
sanitary  reform,  and  the  like.  I  should  wish  to  give 
you  one  more  essay  upon  the  immense  advantages  that 
may  be  derived  from  wise  official  management.  You 
think,  I  know  you  do,  that  subjects  like  these  do  not 
much  concern  you.  I  propose  to  show  you,  by  one 
or  two  remarkable  instances,  how  profoundly  your 
individual  interests  are  concerned  in  good  government, 
and  in  the  management  of  official  details,  which  you 
think  it  is  mere  official  pedantry  for  me  to  harp  upon  so 
much  as  I  do.  After  I  have  inflicted  upon  you  this 
final  essay,  you  may  go  into  whatever  subjects  you 
please.  You  may  discuss  the  conduct  of  the  rich  to  the 
poor,  or  of  the  poor  to  the  rich.  You  may  deal  with  the 
great  question  of  co-operative  industry,  respecting  which 
I  see  that  our  friend  Brasscy  has  been  delivering  an 
admirable  lecture;  or  you  may  discuss  the  never-to-be- 
exhausted  questions  of  love  and  friendship  ;  the  rights  of 


So  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

women,  and  the  wrongs  of  men ;  cruelty  to  animals,  or 
whatever  you  may  be  pleased  to  select. 

Ellcsmcre.  Let  us  take  him  at  his  word.  When  I 
was  a  boy  at  school,  and  we  had  to  clear  from  the 
plates  whatever  was  put  before  us,  I  used  to  eat  the 
nauseous  bits  first,  or,  if  I  could,  put  them  in  my 
pocket,  and  then  I  could  manage  the  rest. 

Lady  EUesmcre.     What  an  unsavoury  metaphor,  John  ! 

EUesviere.  It  is  the  same  thing,  my  dear,  with  the 
honeymoon.  We  have  to  get  through  that  first,  and 
then  the  rest  is  comparatively  easy. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  accept  Ellesmere's  simile ;  but  it  leads 
me  to  a  conclusion  different  from  his.  I  am  more 
interested  in  Milverton's  subject  than  in  any  of  those 
which  I  heard  that  you  proposed  in  your  walk  the  other 
day. 

Ellcsinere,  How  far  politeness  will  carry  some 
people  !  Good  manners  are  the  most  powerful  crea- 
tures in  the  world.  A  man  will  do  for  the  sake  of 
good  manners  what  he  will  hardly  do  for  torture. 

Sir  Arthur.  You  have  not  heard  my  proposition. 
It  is  to  keep  Milverton's  essay  as  a  bonne  bouche  for  the 
last. 

Ellesniere.     Oh,  the  sly  dog ! 

Sir  Atihur.     And  to  have  your  vague  essays  now. 

Milvcrton.  I  should  not  be  sorry  to  have  the  matter 
settled  in  this  way.  It  will  give  me  and  Johnson  more 
time  to  prepare. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  8i 

Ellesmere.  Well,  then,  Nvho  is  to  be  the  first  victim? 
I  vote  that  it  should  be  Maiileverer.  It  appears  to  me 
that  his  proposed  essay  on  "  Intrusiveneiis  "  would  come 
in  well  now, 

Cranmer.  No:  I  proposed  that  subject;  but  I  will 
gladly  yield  to  Mr.  Mauleverer. 

After  a  g-ood  deal  of  persuasion,  Mr. 
Mauleverer  was  at  last  induced  to  promise 
that  he  would  favour  us  with  his  thoughts 
upon  Intrusiveness  ;  and  then,  to  the 
delight  of  Sir  John  and  Mr,  Milverton, 
the  time  had  come  for  our  landing  at  a 
very  muddy  bank  of  this,  the  most  renowned 
of  rivers.  As  we  were  landing,  Ellesmere 
urged  upon  us  all  to  be  verv^  serious,  "A 
laugh  might  upset  you  all.  It  was  at 
this  very  point  that  Milverton  was  upset 
in  his  outrigger,  though  he  would  have  you 
believe  that  it  was  in  the  deepest  of  deep 
waters.  K  boat  is  a  delightful  thing — to 
get  out  of." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

1\ /r  R.  AIAULEVERER  was  not  long  in 
preparing-  his  essay,  and,  indeed,  in- 
formed us  the  next  morning  that  he  was 
ready  to  read  to  us  what  he  had  written. 
I  will  give  his  own  words. 

Maulevenr.  You  must  not  expect  a  long  discourse. 
The  subject  does  not  admit  of  it.  And  you  must  not 
expect  fine  writing.  I  go  straight  to  the  point,  and  do 
not  want  similes  and  metaphors  to  back  me  up.  All 
padding  is  an  abomination  to  me. 

Eilesmere.  I  hate  long-windedness  as  much  as  you 
do,  Mauleverer;  but  I  cannot  call  good  similes  and 
metaphors  padding.  When  I  introduced  that  simile 
about  the  way  in  which,  as  a  boy,  I  used  to  manage  with 
my  dinner,  everybody,  except  my  lady,  felt  that  it  was  a 
valuable  simile  ;  and,  in  truth,  it  was  the  cause  of  your 
being  brought  forward  on  the  present  occasion. 

Mauleverer.     If  you  must  have  similes,  I  will  give  you 


■     SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  83 

one  which  will  show  how  desirable  it  is  that  I  should 
begin  to  read  my  essay  at  once.  IIa\e  you  ever  been 
at  a  public  dinner  ? 

Ellesmere.     Yes  :  to  my  sorrow,  many  times. 

Mauleverer.  Have  you  observed  how  wretched  that 
poor  man  is,  who  has  to  make  the  speech  of  the  evening, 
until  he  has  made  it?  Others  can  eat  a  good  dinner  :  he 
cannot.  So,  no  more  desultory  talk  until  I  have  read 
the  essay  of  the  morning.  Thinking  about  it  has  spoilt 
my  breakfast. 

Hereupon  Mr.  INIauleverer  read  the  fol- 
lowing essay  : — 

INTRUSIVENESS. 

At  present  thqre  are  at  least  eight  millions 
of  people  in  these  Islands,  and  elsewhere, 
who  can  write  a  letter  in  the  English 
language,  and  half  of  whom,  at  least,  have 
the  courage  to  write  that  letter.  When 
the  benevolent  schemes  for  educating  every- 
body, which  are  now  before  the  world,  are 
brought  to  completion,  there  will  be  one 
hundred  and  eighty  millions  of  people  who 
will  be  able  to  write  a  letter  in  the  English 


84  SOCIAL  PRESSURE.    ■ 

languag-e,  and  at  least  ninety  millions  of 
them  who  will  have  the  courage  to  write  that 
letten  This  will  be  the  ruin,  intellectually 
speakings,  of  all  those  persons,  naturally 
pre-eminent,  who  might  conduce  to  the 
progress  of  the  world  in  civilization — if 
there  be  such  a  thing  as  this  progress. 

This  fearful  result  of  general  education 
might  perhaps  be  avoided,  if  it  were  not  for 
the  Intrusiveness  which  is  innate  in  mankind. 

It  was  one  of  the  truest  sayings  ever 
said,  (the  sayer  is,  I  believe,  unknown)  — 
that  "when  a  man  has  once  done  anything 
well,  the  world  will  take  care  that  he 
shall  not  be  able  to  do  anything  more  of 
the  same  kind." 

And  what  did  that  sagacious  unknown 
man  mean  by  this  saying  ?  He  meant 
that  the  mental  force  of  the  unfortunate 
person  who  had  so  distinguished  himself 
by  doing  any  one  thing  well,  would  hence- 
forth be  frittered  away  by  innumerable 
attempts,  to  some  of  which  he  would  cer- 
tainly yield,   to  gain   his  attention  to  those 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  85 

matters  for  the  management  of  which  he 
has  no  particular  aptitude,  and  which  other 
persons  of  inferior  capacity  could  manage 
as  well  as  himself,  or  better  than  himself. 

By  reason  of  the  horrible  notoriety,  which 
this  miserable  man  has  gained  in  doing 
this  one  thing  well,  he  will  have  attracted 
to  himself  all  those  persons  who  are  anxious 
to  seize  upon  any  eminent  or  notorious 
person  as  a  means  of  furthering  their  own 
small  views  and  purposes.  He  will  be 
asked  to  preside  at  public  dinners  ;  to  speak 
at  public  meetings ;  to  become  a  member 
of  innumerable  committees ;  to  give  testi- 
monials to  people  as  to  whose  c|ualifications 
he  knows  little  or  nothing ;  and  to  make 
one  of  the  concourse  of  notable  persons  at 
public  funerals. 

Even  this  state  of  things  would  lead  to 
no  great  evil,  if  it  were  not  for  a  certain 
weakness  which  is  inherent  in  almost  all 
men ;  and  not  least  in  the  man  who  has  once 
done  anything  well.  Most  persons  are  apt 
to  be  satisfied  with  themselves  If  their  days 


86  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

are  busily  employed.  It  is  a  very  rare  man, 
indeed,  who  should  have  taken  such  a  com- 
plete survey  of  his  own  powers  and  capa- 
bilities, as  to  know  what  he  can  do  best; 
and  a  still  rarer  man  who,  having  gained  this 
knowledge,  should  have  the  hourly  courage  . 
that  is  needed  to  confine  his  exertions  to 
his  own  proper  work. 

Moreover,  to  think  steadily  and  severely 
is  a  very  painful  and  unpleasant  exercise 
for  the  human  mind.  The  secondary  work 
that  any  great  man  *is  asked  to  do,  re- 
quires, for  the  most  part,  only  secondary 
thought,  and  is  a  relief  from,  and  an 
excuse  for,  not  thinking  upon  those  sub- 
jects in  which  the  man  in  question  has 
peculiar  capability. 

To  a  certain  extent,  therefore,  this  In- 
trusiveness  of  which  I  have  spoken,  will 
not  be  unwelcome  to  him.  He  will  de- 
generate into  a  doer  of  secondary  work, 
which,  no  doubt,  will  gain  him  suffi- 
cient applause  and  favour ;  and  so  we 
shall  lose   the   best  work   of  a  great   man. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  87 

or  at  any  rate  of  a  man  capable  in  one 
direction. 

Friends  of  mine  complain,  not  without 
reason,  that  there  is  less  forethought  in 
the  world  than  might  be  wished  for.  Fore- 
thought demands  disengaged  thought  ;  and 
the  man  who  has  a  thousand  claims  upon 
his  attention,  which  seem  to  give  fair  scope 
for  the  daily  exercise  of  his  powers  of 
thought,  will  not  have  the  time,  or,  what 
is  of  still  more  importance,  this  disengage- 
ment from  ordinary  thought,  which  is  neces- 
sary for  forethought. 

My  friends,  when  they  write  their  essays 
or  make  the  speeches  in  our  friendly  council, 
to  which  I  have  the  honour  and  pleasure 
of  listening,  are  always  anxious  to  provide 
remedies  for  the  evils  which  they  enume- 
rate. I  am  anxious  also  to  provide 
remedies  in  this  case  ;  but,  being  without 
much  fertility  of  resource  or  imagination, 
I  do  not  see  where  these  remedies  are  to 
come  from.  I  do  not  believe  that,  as  the 
power  of  writing  letters    and    the    courage 


83  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

to  indite  them,  increase  in  the  world,  we 
shall  find  that  fussy,  busy  people,  deem- 
ini^  the  objects  of  their  fuss  and  their 
business  to  be  all-important,  will  cease  to 
importune  my  imag"inary  great  man,  or 
competent  man,  to  busy  himself  with  their 
affairs.  On  the  other  hand,  I  do  not 
see  a  prospect  of  this  man's  having  the 
courage  to  decline  what  I  have  called  his 
secondary  work.  Indeed,  the  progress  of 
democracy  makes  it  more  probable  that  he 
will  seek  to  gain  the  suffrages  of  his  fellow- 
citizens  by  rendering  himself  a  slave  to  them 
for  the  transaction  of  this  secondary  work ; 
and,  in  fine,  this  intrusiveness,  and  the 
inevitable  subservience  to  it,  constitute  some 
of  the  imperative  circumstances  of  the 
present  time  which  lead  me  to  think  that 
the  dreamers  and  enthusiasts,  by  whom  I  am 
surrounded,  will  fail,  in  all  their  efforts,  to 
improve  the  wretched  condition  of  mankind. 

There   was    silence    for    a    few   minutes : 
then  Sir  John  spoke. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  89 

Ellesmere.  What  a  blessing  it  is  to  have  some  portion 
of  that  vulgar  thing  called  "  animal  spirits."  The  rest  of 
you  seem  somewhat  depressed  by  Mauleverer's  cheerless 
essay.  Milverton  is  seriously  considering  what  serious 
answer  he  can  give  to  it.  Whereas  I,  with  my  brutal 
animal  spirits,  have  an  answer  already  in  my  mind.  I 
believe  I  have  imparted  it  to  you  before,  but  that  is  no 
matter.  Words  of  Avisdom  will  bear  many  repetitions. 
Mauleverer  is  evidently  most  fearful  as  regards  intrusive 
letter-writing  to  his  great  and  capable  man.  There  are 
two  sides  to  that  question.  I  have,  before  now,  advised 
the  foolish  and  intrusive  letter-writer  gravely  10  consider 
whether  he  is  the  only  foolish  and  intrusive  person  in 
existence.  If,  with  all  his  folly,  he  be  a  man  of  calcula- 
ting mind,  he  will  arrive  at  the  fact,  that  there  are  at 
least  eighty-three  persons  as  foolish  as  himself,  who 
will,  on  the  day  and  hour  that  he  is  writing,  be  inclined 
to  indite  similar  letters  to  the  statesman,  author,  or 
thinker,  whom  he  is  addressing.  This  might  make  him 
pause. 

Mauleverer.     It  won't. 

Ellesmere.  Then,  on  the  other  hand,  there  is  the 
unfortunate  person — '  unfortunate,'  Mauleverer  has  justly 
called  him— who  is  to  receive  these  intrusive  communi- 
cations. He  will  at  last  be  awakened  to  the  evil.  The 
greater  it  is,  the  more  likely  he  is  to  be  awa»ce  to  it.  H( 
bears  with  the  eight  millions,  he  will  not  bear  with 
Mauleverer's  ninety  millions. 


90  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Sir  Arthur.  It  all  depends  upon  private  secretaries. 
I  have  always  thought  that  they  are  among  the  most 
important  persons  in  the  world.  I  had  a  private 
secretary  once,  who  fought  all  this  battle  against  intru- 
siveness,  admirably.  He  would  not  even  let  me  see  the 
enormous  quantity  of  trash  addressed  to  me. 

Cranmer.  Your  private  secretary  must  almost  be  a 
great  man  himself,  at  any  rate  a  most  competent  man,  to 
be  able  to  take  this  weight  of  Intrusiveness  from  off  your 
shoulders. 

Milvertoti.  I  am  afraid  that  I  am  at  variance  with 
my  company.  I  think  you  all  make  too  much  of  this 
Intrusiveness.  These  'secondary  objects,'  as  Mauleverer 
was  pleased  to  call  them,  are  often  not  unimportant 
objects  ;  and  the  decision  upon  them,  the  advice  given 
about  them,  by  men  eminent  among  their  fellow-citizens, 
is  not  altogetlier  lost. 

At  the  same  time,  I  own  that  Mauleverer,  though  in  a 
most  sarcastic  fashion,  has  put  before  us  a  real  evil — an 
evil  which,  however,  increased  knowledge  and  cultivation 
will  enable  us  to  meet,  and,  perhaps,  to  conquer. 

One  great  point,  for  which  I  think  you  all  omit  to 
make  due  allowance,  is  the  power  of  thinking  at  odd 
times  which  thoughtful  men  jDossess. 

Ellesmcre.     That  is  a  queer  expression. 

Alilverton.  It  is  quite  a  delusion  to  suppose  that  the 
most  thoughtful  men,  those  even  who  try  to  regulate 
their  minds  most  carefully,  sit   down  to  think  over  any 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  91 

great  subject  "  steadily  and  severely."  I  believe  that  if 
we  knew  the  processes  of  the  greatest  minds,  we  should 
find  that  some  of  their  best  and  most  productive 
thoughts  are  thought  out  in  a  somewhat  careless 
manner,  in  these  odd  times  I  speak  of, 

I  dislike  this  Intrusiveness  that  Mauleverer  has  lec- 
tured us  upon,  far  more  for  its  effect  upon  health  than 
for  its  prevention  of  thoughtfulness.  Those  subtle  por- 
tions of  our  frame,  those  tiny  filaments,  the  nerves, 
require  more  repose,  perhaps,  than  any  other  part  of  the 
body ;  and  they  are  very  silent  creatures.  They  do  not 
care  to  tell  you  when  they  are  over-wearied  and  over- 
taxed, until  suddenly  they  break  down  altogether, 

Elh'smere.  Always  fear  the  silent.  I  fear  Mrs.  Mil- 
verton.  She  talks  less  than  any  of  us  ;  but  when  she 
does  say  anything,  it  is  tremendous, 

Alilverton.  Fully  half  of  the  greatest  errors  that  the 
greatest  rtien  have  committed,  have,  I  believe,  arisen 
from  a  morbid  state  of  nerves.  And  how  can  you 
expect  that  a  man  who  is  being  lugged  forward  at  all 
times,  who  never  has  profound  rest  (that  is  the  case 
now  with  some  of  our  principal  statesmen),  can  have 
the  nerves  in  good  order?  That  is  where  Mauleverer's 
fulminations  against  Intrusiveness  tell  the  most  with  me. 

Referring  to  what  I  said  about  thinking  being  trans- 
acted at  odd  times,  we  are  ahnost  certain,  from  the  biogra- 
phies of  eminent  men,  that  this  is  the  case.  You  detect 
it  in  the  life  of  Sir  Waller  Scott ;  and  I  have  no  doubc 


92  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

that  Bacon,  Shakespeare,  ami  Machiavelli,  who  in  their 
respective  ways  were  busy  men  of  the  world,  seldom  sat 
down,  as  it  were,  to  think  ;  but  did  their  thinking  at 
odd  times.  But  then  I  have  no  doubt,  they  had  deli- 
cious pauses  from  thought ;  the  world  not  being  so  fussy 
then,  and  not  exacting  such  constant  presence  from  its 
great  men. 

Sir  Arthur.  And  then  people  had  not  so  much  to 
learn.  Men  were  contented  with  knowing  fewer  lan- 
guages. jSIilverton,  to  use  one  of  his  favourite  words, 
fusses  a  great  deal  about  the  evils  of  competition.  But 
you  can  see  that  he  has  mostly  in  his  mind  certain  moral 
evils,  as  against  which  certain  moral  advantages  might  be 
put,  though  1  have  seldom  cared  to  put  them.  Com- 
petition affords  a  stimulus  for  ordinary  minds  which 
nothing  else  does.  But  if  it  be  carried  to  the  excess 
which  it  seems  likely  to  be  in  our  time,  what  I  am 
afraid  of  is,  that  it  will  dwarf  originalit}\  Of  course 
it  will  not  do  so  with  really  great  men;  but  the  worst 
mischief  that  great  men  do  to  the  world 

Ellesmere.     And  they  do  a  pretty  deal  of  mischief. 

Sir  Arthur.  — is,  that  they  are  made  an  example  of; 
and  they  furnioh  very  bad  examples  for  dealing  with  the 
ordinary  run  of  human  beings. 

Milverton.     I  never  thought  or  said 

Sir  Arthur.  Don't  interrupt  me,  Milverton.  I  am 
going  to  delight  your  heart,  and  perhaps  I  may  forget  to 
do  so,  if  you  lead  the  conversation  into  any  other  channel 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  93 

There  was  a  school  with  which  I  was  connected 
when  I  was  last  in  office.  I  went  down  to  visit  the 
school.  I  shall  disguise  the  circumstances  as  much  as 
I  can ;  but  the  substance  of  my  story  is  exactly  true. 

After  some  converse  with  the  scholars,  I  had  some 
talk  alone  with  the  Principal.  In  the  course  of  the 
talk  I  happened  to  say,  "  It  is  very  WTong,  I  know, 
to  have  favourites  \  but  one  can't  help  having  them. 
I  must  confess  that  little  George  Smith  takes  my  fancy 
more  than  any  other  boy  in  the  school.  I  am  sure  he 
is  wonderfully  intelligent." 

The  Principal  smiled  ;  nay  more,  the  Principal  began 
to  laugh,  though  evidently  endeavouring  to  restrain 
himself. 

Then  he  said,  "  I  must  say.  Sir  Arthur,  that  you  have 
not  been  very  fortunate  in  your  choice  of  an  intellectual 
favourite.  The  boy  is  a  charming  boy  :  and,  personally, 
he  is  a  great  favourite  of  mine  too ;  but  his  stupidity, 
my  dear  Sir  Arthur,  is  something  fearful." 

At  that  moment  one  of  the  under-masters  entered. 
"  Mr.  Jenkins-,"  said  the  Principal,  "  Sir  Arthur  is  very 
much  pleased  with  George  Smith,  and  is  greatly  struck 
by  the  lad's  intelligence."  Jenkins  looked  at  the  Prin- 
cipal with  a  look  which  I  could  see  meant  to  ask 
whether  he  should  say  what  he  thought  about  the  boy. 
Receiving  a  counter-look  of  encouragement  from  the 
Head-master,  Mr.  Jenkins  said,  "  He  is  a  good  lad,  but 
I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him.      Put  him   into  any 


94  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

class,  he  is  sure  to  sink  to  the  bottom  of  it  in  two  or 
three  days.  If  you  remember,  Doctor,  we  had  him  in 
the  lower  fifth,  and  he  was  always  at  the  bottom  of  the 
class  there.  Then,  with  your  permission,  I  put  him  in 
the  upper  fourth.  There,  again,  he  sank  like  lead  in 
water  to  the  bottom  of  the  class.  And  the  poor  boy 
means  well  \  but  I  think  he  hates  the  sight  of  a  book : 
and  half  his  time  you  see  him  looking  about  l.im  in  a 
moony  kind  of  way." 

Mr.  Jenkins  then  left  the  room,  having  received  some 
orders  from  the  Principal.  I  left  the  room  too,  feeling 
very  small,  and  saying  I  would  take  a  walk  before  the 
boys'  dinner,  at  which  I  was  to  be  present. 

As  I  walked  in  a  wood  near  the  school,  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  I  had  made  rather  an  ass  of 
myself.  I  should  not  have  said  anything  about  the  boys 
until  I  knew  more  about  them.  The  Principal  would 
say  to  himself,  "  This  may  be  a  great  official  swell,"  for 
doubtless  so  I  appeared  to  him  ;  "  but  his  knowledge  of 
boys  is  somewhat  scanty."  I  said  to  myself,  "I  will  send 
the  Under-Secretary  next  time.  I  don't  seem  to  make 
much  of  this  business.     It  is  evidently  not  my  forte." 

I  returned  to  dinner ;  and  I  can  tell  you  I  felt  very 
shy,  dining  in  company  with  a  great  number  of  boys, 
feeling  that  I  was  observed  with  all  the  severe  and 
petulant  observation  of  the  young;  and  knowing,  too, 
that  I  must  lead  the  conversation. 

In   the  morning  we  had  been   engaged   in  a  geogra- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  95 

phical  examination,  at  which  I  had  assisted.  This  fur- 
nished me  with  a  topic ;  but  I  soon  felt  that  this  con- 
versation, bordering  on  "  shop,"  would  by  no  means 
amuse  the  boys.  It  suddenly  came  into  my  mind  that  I 
would  tell  them  an  adventure  of  my  own,  in  one  of  those 
distant  countries,  respecting  the  principal  rivers  in  which 
most  of  us,  fully  including  myself,  had  been  rather  hazy. 

This  topic  succeeded  in  interesting  the  boys  ;  and  I 
soon  found  that  I  had  the  closest  attention.  At  a 
critical  period  in  the  story,  I  came  to  a  great  difficulty 
W'hich  had  beset  me.  I  suddenly  stopped  my  narrative, 
and  asked  the  bo}'s  if  any  one  could  tell  me  what  he 
would  have  done  to  extricate  himself. 

Now  I  must  tell  you  that  it  was  a  real  difficulty.  I 
have  been  a  great  traveller,  as  you  know  ;  and  I  have 
always  found  that,  in  such  difficult  cases,  it  is  not  well  to 
rush  hither  and  thither,  pursuing  different  and  perhaps 
opposing  plans  for  extricating  one's  self  from  any  diffi- 
culty ;  but  it  is  best  to  sit  down,  if  one  has  the  oppor- 
tunity of  sitting,  and  to  have  w^hat  a  young  friend  of  mine 
calls  "  a  good  solid  think"  over  it.  I  did  so  on  that 
occasion,  and  resolved  upon  a  course  which  ultimately 
proved  successful.  In  telling  the  story  afterwards  to 
experienced  travellers,  they  have  sometimes  suggested 
another  course;  but  they  have  been  pleased  to  say  that 
mine  was  as  good  as  theirs.  It  was  not  so  ;  it  was  only 
the  second-best,  but  still  it  sufficed. 

Well,  the  boys,   upon   my  question,  put  down  their 


96  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

knives  and  forks,  untl  looked  into  space,  thinking 
earnestly.  It  was  just  the  kind  of  difficulty  which 
would  interest  the  boyish  mind.  I  took  care  also  to 
put  the  difficulty  before  the  Undcr-masters  and  the 
Head-master,  as  expecting  an  answer  from  them,  if 
the  boys  failed  to  give  one.  I  narrated  the  principal 
circumstances  again  ;  still  there  was  silence,  which  lasted 
for  several  minutes. 

I  was  about  to  solve  the  riddle,  when  the  thin  but 
sweet  voice  of  Master  George  Smith  was  heard  ;  and 
timidly  and  blushingly  that  boy  [lut  forward  his  view  of 
what  should  be  done  under  the  circumstances — and  it 
was  mine,  the  very  one  I  had  adopted. 

I  don't  want  to  make  myself  out  particularly  clever, 
but  here  was  I,  a  man,  and  an  experienced  traveller  j 
and  this  untravelled  child  had  proved  himself  at  least 
my  equal  in  sagacity. 

I  should  have  been  more  than  mortal,  if  I  had  not 
taken  a  stealthy  look  of  triumph  at  the  Principal  and  at 
Mr.  Jenkins.  The  Principal,  a  thoroughly  good  fellow, 
nodded  to  me  in  return,  with  an  expression  that  seemed 
to  say,  "  You  are  not  such  a  mere  official  fool  as  I  took 
you  to  be." 

That  dear  boy,  George  Smith,  had  rehabilitated  me  ; 
and  I  resolved,  on  the  next  occasion,  to  come  down 
myself,  instead  of  sending  the  Under-Secretary ;  but  the 
Fates,  embodying  themselves  in  a  hostile  division  in  the 
House  of  Commons,  prevented  that. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  97 

Cranmer.  Do  you  know  I  think,  Sir  Arthur,  that 
there  are  very  subtle  sympathies  in  the  world. 

Ellesmere.  By  all  the  powers  of  magic,  what  a 
romantic  creature  Cranmer  is  becoming  ! 

Cranmer.  That  boy  was  like  you,  felt  for  you,  perhaps 
unconsciously  saw  into  your  mind,  and  you  into  his. 

Ellesmere.  Well,  Cranmer  is  coming  out  indeed.  A 
man  who  has  been  secretary  to  the  Treasury,  talking  of 
subtle  sympathies,  and  reading  other  people's  minds  ! 

But  the  person  who  was  delighted  with 
this  anecdote  was  Mr.  Milverton.  He 
got  up  and  stood  before  the  fire,  and 
talked  so  rapidly  to  us  that  I  cannot  put 
down  exactly  what  he  said.  Besides,  every- 
body knows  what  he  would  be  sure  to  say 
upon  such  an  opportunity  being  given  to 
him — "how  you  could  never  find  out  any- 
body's merits  by  ascertaining  his  book- 
knowledge  ;  how  the  indocile  people  had 
been  the  great  people  of  the  world  ;  how 
originality  was  stifled  by  cramming;  how  the 
world  would  find  out  that  he  was  right,  but 
it  v/ould  be  a  long  time  first " — and  the  like. 
One   portion,  however,   of  his  conversation 

H 


98  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

I  remember.  He  spoke  of  Mr.  Carlyle.  He 
said  how  that  great  man  had  been  veiy 
kind  to  him  when  he  was  a  youth ;  how 
they  had  taken  long-  walks  together ;  how 
still,  though  he  had  immensely  admired 
his  companion,  he  had  been  less  influenced 
by  him  than  other  young  men  were,  who 
had  possessed  the  happiness  of  close  in- 
timacy with  Mr.  Carlyle.  For,  as  he 
(Mr.  Milverton)  said,  they  two  were  men 
of  very  different  natures  ;  and  he  often 
wondered  how  Carlyle  had  tolerated  him. 
But  that  there  was  one  thing,  as  regards 
which  he  felt  the  intensest  sympathy  with 
Carlyle,  and  had  been  greatly  strengthened 
by  him. 

It  was  in  the  profound  belief  that  men 
differ  very  much  from  one  another  ;  and 
that  to  get  a  great  man,  or  even  a  very- 
capable  man,  into  a  potent  place,  was  a 
signal  gain  for  the  world.  Half  men, 
"demi-semi"  men,  were,  comparatively 
speaking,  of  no  use.  "  You  can't  think 
with    me,    you    can't    feel   with    me,"    said 


SOCIylL  PRESSURE.  99 

Mr.  Milverton,  somewhat  mournfully;  "even 
Cranmer  has  not  had  quite  my  experience, 
and  seen  what  it  is  to  have  the  real  man 
to  do  anything'.  Such  a  man,  as  Carlyle 
used  to  say  to  me,  makes  the  most  unfit 
positions,  the  positions  from  which  you 
think  nothing  good  or  great  could  come, 
fitting,  useful,  and  productive." 

I  do  not  know  how  long  Mr.  Milverton 
would  have  continued  in  this  strain,  if 
Sir  John  Ellesmere,  who  cannot  abide  long 
discourse,  and  the  less  so,  the  more  he 
agrees  with  it,  had  not  cut  Mr.  Milverton' s 
eloquence  short  by  several  ludicrous  obser- 
vations. 

The  conversation  ended  somewhat  mourn- 
fully, for  Mr.  Milverton  asked  whether  Sir 
Arthur  had  ever  heard  anything  more  of 
his  little  friend,  George  Smith  ;  and  Sir 
Arthur  said  that  he  had — that  the  poor 
boy  had  died  early,  in  about  three  years 
after  Sir  Arthur's  visit  to  the  school. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

OOON  after  dinner,  on  that  same  day, 
Sir  John  Ellesmere  retired  at  an  early 
hour  from  his  guests,  muttering,  as  he  went, 
something  about  *'  law-papers  and  other 
work  having  to  be  attended  to."  And  we 
saw  no  more  of  him  that  evening.  I  noticed, 
as  he  left  the  room,  that  Lady  Ellesmere 
smiled,  and  that  she  made  no  effort  to 
detain  him,  as  she  generally  does.  I  also 
noticed  that  a  look  of  intelligence  passed 
between  our  host  and  hostess,  as  if  there 
was  some  secret  understanding  between 
them. 

The  next  morning,  it  being  a  hopelessly 
wet  day,  we  were  all  assembled  in  the 
library,  when  Mr.  Milverton  suddenly  began 
the  conversation  thus : 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  loi 

Milverton.  Johnson  has  been  telling  me  what  you 
talked  about,  during  your  walk  the  other  day. 

Ellesmere.  By  Jove  !  Has  he  ?  I  hope  he  told  you 
of  the  sufibcating  interest  I  take  in  your  present  subject, 
Milverton. 

ivlilvaion.  He  told  me  of  the  desire  you  feel  to 
stifle  it.  It  is  one  of  the  saddest  things  in  life,  that  the 
subjects  which  should  interest  us  most,  are  inevitably 
those  which  are  dull,  prosaic,  and  commonplace. 

Cranmer.     I  didn't  agree  with  him,  Milverton. 

Sir  Arthur.     And  I  don't  agree  with  him. 

Milverton.  I  am  afraid,  though,  that  none  of  you  feel 
as  I  do  about  the  fearful  increase  of  large  towns.  I  once 
saw  the  beginning  of  a  great  flood.  A  little  tongue  of 
water,  not  an  inch  in  depth,  and  nowhere  broader  than 
a  few  feet,  was  marching  quietly  down  the  centre  of  a 
street.  I  merely  thought  that  some  neighbouring  water- 
butt  had  overflowed,  or  that  the  turncock  of  the  district 
was  amusing  himself,  as  turncocks  sometimes  seem  apt  to 
do,  by  letting  out  a  little  water,  to  show  his  power  over 
that  element.     I  walked  on — 

"  Nescio  quid  mcditans  nugarum,  et  totus  in  illis," 

when  I  suddenly  found  that  a  little  stream  had  invaded 
the  pavement,  and,  in  a  minute  or  two,  I  had  only  time 
to  escape  into  another  street,  at  right  angles  and  at  a 
higher  level.  The  flood  turned  up  that  street  too  ;  and, 
in  short,  it  soon  required  considerable  vigour  to  make 


102  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

one's  way,  dry-shod,  from  what  may  well  be  called,  like 
its  sister,  fire,  the  devouring  element. 

So  it  is  with  the  increase  of  our  metropolis,  and  other 
great  towns.  You  know  of  some  delightful  bit  of  suburb, 
perhaps,  in  former  days,  a  portion  of  a  nobleman's  park, 
or  of  a  long  series  of  market  gardens,  rich  in  this  spring- 
time with  the  beautiful  blossoms  of  plum  and  cherry- 
trees.  All  of  a  sudden  there  are  heaps  of  building 
materials  seen  ;  then  one  or  two  new  houses  of  ghastly 
ugliness.  You  perceive,  meanwhile,  that  the  market- 
gardens  are  less  cared  for  than  usual,  and  that,  in  odd 
corners,  a  plentiful  crop  of  weeds  is  allowed  to  appear. 
In  the  course  of  the  summer,  there  are  rows  of  unfinished 
buildings,  and  the  trees  have  vanished,  with  the  exception 
of  a  few  injured  ones  that  are  allowed  to  remain,  these 
not  being  in  the  way.  The  spot  is  bereft  of  all  its 
beauty.  It  is  now  considered  to  be  occupied;  and  is, 
m  fact,  part  of  the  town. 

It  often  happens  that  in  neither  case— neither  for  the 
flood,  nor  for  this  outburst  of  building,  has  due  prepara- 
tion been  made.     That  is  what  I  have  to  complain  of. 

Edesmere.  What  do  you  mean,  Milverton,  by  no  due 
preparation  has  been  made  ? 

Milverton.  Why,  this.  In  the  first  place  that,  very 
likely,  there  has  been  no  preparation  for  a  judicious 
system  of  drainage  and  sewerage ;  but  I  mean  far  more 
than  that.  Wl->ere  is  the  proper  proportion  of  the  smaller 
houses,  the  houses  for  the  poor,  that  should  accompany 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  103 

this  outburst  of  building?  Little  would  I  say  against  it, 
small  would  be  my  regret  over  the  loss  of  cherry-trees 
and  plum-trees,  if  this  proportion  were  maintained. 

Cfanmer.  Of  course,  my  dear  Milverton,  you  do  not 
mean  to  say  that  a  man  may  not  do  what  he  likes  with 
his  own  in  this  matter.  If  the  ground  landlord  and  the 
builder  see  that  it  is  to  their  interest  that  houses  of  a 
certain  class  should  be  erected,  you  cannot  maintain  that 
their  freedom  of  action  should  be  curbed  in  this  direc- 
tion. 

Milverton.  No,  I  cannot ;  I  only  wished,  by  appeal- 
ing to  each  man's  experience,  to  show  what  is  going  on  ; 
and,  therefore,  to  make  you  all  take  more  interest,  a 
"  suffocating  interest "  if  you  please,  to  use  Ellesmere's 
malicious  phrase,  in  anything  that  can  be  proposed  to 
mitigate,  even  in  the  slightest  degree,  the  necessary  evils 
consequent  upon  the  increase  of  great  towns,  amongst  a 
free  people. 

It  is  a  dreadful  drawback,  even  upon  those  improve- 
ments which  are  beautiful  and  useful  in  themselves,  that 
they  compel,  for  the  most  part,  immense  destruction  of 
the  habitations  of  the  poor.  Now  there  have  been  signal 
improvements  made,  in  our  time,  in  some  of  the  densest 
parts  of  London.  But,  I  regret  to  say,  they  have  had 
this  great  drawback,  as  I  am  told,  of  a  large  displacement 
of  the  poor. 

Of  all  matters  important  to  human  civilization,  after  the 
production  of  sufficient  food,  comes  the  dwelling-place. 


I04  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

What  is  the  good  of  insisting  upon  cleanliness  and 
sobriety,  and  all  the  other  virtues,  to  people  who  live  with 
two  other  families  in  the  same  room  ?  am  taking  an 
extreme  case ;  but,  going  upwards  from  that,  the  same 
law  holds  good.  Crime  finds  great  difficulty  in  getting  a 
habitat  for  itself  in  decent  homes  ;  and,  in  all  nations, 
the  test  to  be  given  for  real  civilization  is  in  the  compa- 
rative goodness  or  badness  of  the  dwellings  of  the  lowest 
class.  The  great  traveller.  Dr.  Schweinfurth,  says,  that 
cleanliness  and  cooking  are  the  tests.  Well,  substantially 
I  agree  with  him ;  for  how  are  cleanliness  and  good 
cookery  to  be  developed,  or  maintained,  in  habitations  of 
extreme  squalidity  ? 

Ellcsmere.  I  could  say  something  against  that,  taking 
the  cooking  of  gipsies,  for  example  ;  but  I  won't  do  so. 
I  will  be  generous,  and  allow  Milverton's  dicta  to  pass 
unquestioned. 

Milverton.  1  don't  want  your  generosity,  especially  as 
it  would  only  have  been  real  if  it  had  been  silent.  The 
gipsies  have  clear  open  space ;  and,  under  these  circum- 
stances, neither  cleanliness  nor  good  cookery,  (by  the 
way,  have  you  ever  tasted  their  cookery,  Ellesmere  ?) 
make  any  valid  exception  to  my  rule. 

Ellesmere.  1  maintain  a  generous  silence.  There  is 
nothing  that  these  so-called  philanthropists  detest  so 
much  as  the  slightest  objection  being  made  to  any  of 
their  theories. 

Sir  Arthur.     I   have  read    Dr.   Schweinfurth's    book, 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  105 

arid  what  struck  me  most  in  it  was  an  assertion  of  his, 
for  which  I  dare  say  he  has  good  grounds,  that  savages 
are  more  slaves  to  fashion  than  even  civiHzed  i:)eople. 
As  I  read  that  passage,  I  thought  how  it  would  have 
tickled  your  fancy,  Ellesmere.  It  is  the  fashion  for 
W'Omen  in  some  savage  tribes  to  pull  their  eyelashes  out. 

Ellesmere.  Can  you  wonder  that  our  women  should 
build  up  pyramids  of  hair,  perfectly  deforming  the  human 
countenance  ?  There  is  a  case  of  disproportion  for  you, 
Milverton  ;  worse  than  your  building  one  ! 

Milverton.-  Well,  we  did  not  meet  here  to  talk  about 
savages.  If  all  of  you  are  tired  of  my  subject,  you  will 
doubtless  wish  for  what  relaxation  Ellesmere  can  provide 
for  you.  I  hear  that  he  was  mightily  suggestive  the 
other  day,  and  put  forward  several  great  subjects,  upon 
which  he  wished  essays  should  be  written.  Doubtless  he 
will  favour  us  with  his  views  upon  some  great  matter. 


To  our  astonishment,  less  to  mine  though 
than  to  that  of  the  others,  Ellesmere  rose 
up,  took  a  seat  at  the  great  library  table, 
and  pulled  out  a  roll  of  papers.  I  thought 
that  Mr.  Milverton  looked  rather  discon- 
certed, for  he  had  been  anxious,  as  I  knew, 
to  read  a  paper  which  should  show  that 
his  plan   of  combining   administrative   skill 


io6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

and  experience  with  legislative  hardihood 
(that  was  his  expression),  might  have  a 
hearing  from  the  Friends  to-day. 

Elksmere.  I  really  don't  pretend,  you  know,  to  be  a 
writer.  As  with  all  other  crafts,  that  particular  one 
recjuires  practice  and  experience;  but  I  have  just  put 
loosely  together  a  few  simple  thoughts  of  mine  on  a  sub- 
ject which  I  shall  entitle  The  Art  of  Leaving  Off.  If  you 
should  wish  to  hear  what  I  have  to  say,  my  modesty 
will  not  prevent  my  saying  it. 

Of  course  we  assented,  and  the  reading 
began. 

THE  ART  OF  LEAVING  OFF. 

In  all  the  affairs  of  life,  there  are  two 
great  difficulties  to  encounter — the  begin- 
ning and  thp  ending.  The  wisdom  of 
most  nations,  as  far  as  that  wisdom  can 
be  expressed  in  proverbs,  has  commented 
upon  the  difficulty  of  beginning  well — "  To 
begin  is  half  i  he  battle;''''  ^^  A  good  begifining 
7nakes  a  s[ood  endins[ ;  "  "  Bcoriniuns[  and cndin^ 
shake  hands ^^''  and  the  like. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  107 

Mankind,  with  its  usual  indolence,  has 
shirked  the  less  easy  task  of  commenting" 
upon  the  difficult}^  of  ending. 

How  great  that  difficulty  is,  the  poor 
ending  of  many  novels,  ministries,  after- 
dinner  speeches,  sermons,  and  the  lives 
of  the  greatest  men,  may  sufficiently  de- 
clare. 

It  was  a  very  wise  arrangement  of  former 
days,  now  unhappily  abandoned  in  fashion- 
able circles,  that  the  hostess  should  take 
the  upper  end  of  the  table,  and  the  host 
the  lower  end,  for  it  was  justly  felt  that 
the  principal  guests  and  the  guests  of  most 
youthfulness,  or  least  note,  required  to  be 
especially  attended  to,  whereas  the  middle 
guests  were  sure  to  take  care  of  themselves. 
And  so  it  is  with  the  middle  portions  of 
the  sermons,  histories,  novels,  poems,  mi- 
nisterial actions,  and  the  like,  to  which  I 
have  alluded.  All  history  and  all  biography 
serve  to  illustrate  my  theme.  These  same 
middle  portions  of  a  man's  or  of  a  nation's 
career,    can    often    be   judiciously    skipped 

/ 
/ 


io8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

by  the  reader;  but  every  one  is  anxious 
to  know  how  a  g^reat  affair  began,  and  how 
it  ended. 

Most  of  the  failures  in  life  arise  from 
an  ignorance  of  how  and  when  to  leave 
off.  When  you  read  the  life  of  almost 
any  great  man,  with  the  exception  of 
Augustus  Caesar,  you  see  how  much  greater 
a  man  he  would  have  been  if  he  had  known 
how  and  when  to  leave  off.  The  historian, 
learned  in  dates  and  facts  of  all  kinds,  will 
doubtless  be  read}^  to  show  to  you  how 
Xerxes,  Themistocles,  Czar  Peter,  Frederick 
the  Great,  and  both  the  Napoleons,  might 
have  left  off  at  certain  critical  periods  of 
their  fortunes,  when  their  renown  and  their 
greatness  would  not  have  been  injured  by 
any  decay  or  decadence.  For  my  own  part, 
hardly  venturing  to  treat  of  such  high  matters, 
I  am  still  persuaded  that  Draco  and  Aris- 
tides  would  have  been  more  successful  in 
their  respective  vocations,  if  they  had  known 
and  practised  judiciously  the  great  art  of 
leaving  off.     Fortune,    being   a   woman,    is 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  109 

impatient  as  well  as  fickle,  and  more  often 
changes  from  weariness  of  length,  and  from 
disgust  at  reiteration,  than  from  inconstancy 
in  love  or  liking. 

To  descend  to  minor  matters :  proverbs 
seldom  err  in  humility  of  assertion  ;  but 
there  is  one  which  does  fail  signally  in 
this  respect.  "  Enough  is  as  good  as  a 
feast,''  so  runs,  or  rather  creeps,  that 
modest  proverb ;  but  I  say  *'  Enough  is 
better  than  any  feast,"  and  that,  upon  one 
atom  more  than  enough  being  added,  detri- 
ment and  disgust  begin.  This  applies  to 
all  the  amusements,  to  all  the  festivities, 
and  even  to  all  the  sensual  enjoyments  of 
the  world.  That  host,  or  hostess,  who  should 
know  how  to  make  his  or  her  entertainments 
leave  off  at  the  right  time  (I  have  known 
only  two  such)  will  prove  themselves  to-  be 
the  arch-host  and  hostess  of  mankind.  The 
givers  of  all  entertainments,  where  money 
is  to  be  paid,  should  ponder  well  the  art 
of  **  leaving  off."  Money  is  to  be  made 
by  the  mastery  of  that  art. 


110  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Now,  to  come  to  matters  which  are 
neither  so  great  as  the  careers  of  kings 
and  conquerors,  nor  so  humble  as  the 
giving-  of  feasts  and  the  providing  of  amuse- 
ment for  the  world.  I  would  deal  first 
with  the  arts  of  persuading  and  convincing. 
Too  much  talk,  too  much  argument,  have 
been  the  ruin  of  many  a  persuasive  speech, 
of  many  a  persuasive  conversation.  You 
have  produced  an  effect  upon  your  hearer 
by  a  course  of  argument  which  has  been 
incontrovertible — at  least  b}^  him.  You  add 
something,  a  weak  something,  which  he 
can  answer,  which  he  does  answer,  then 
or  thereafter  ;  and,  having  answered  that, 
your  former  argument  is,  however  unjustly, 
damaged,  and  loses  half  its  weight. 

Although  it  may  be  a  trivial  thing  to 
mention,  the  art  of  leaving  off  is  not  less 
requisite  in  courtship  than  in  other  and 
more  important  transactions  of  human  life. 
How  many  a  man  has  failed  to  make  himself 
happy,  or  miserable,  "  ever  afterwards," 
because  he  has  made  too  much  of  a  slight 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  iii 

advantage,  or  pressed  too  far  a  small  en- 
couragement. He  has  not  known  how  or 
where  to  leave  off.  The  maiden,  perhaps 
both  shy  and  proud,  as  maidens  are  wont 
to  be,  declines  to  have  it  supposed  that 
she  is  altogether  won,  merely  because  she 
did  not  at  once  repress  pretensions  which 
at  first  were  humbly  made,  but  to  which 
she  was  not  prepared,  at  the  time,  to  allow 
any  further  development. 

I  should  be  sorry  only  to  have  pointed 
out  the  difficulties  of  leaving  off,  without 
providing  some  suggestions,  more  or  less 
valuable,  which  should  enable  the  world  to 
know  how  to  leave  off. 

( — I  flatter  myself,  that  is  a  Milvertonian  touch.  If  you 
observe,  after  stathig  any  evil,  he  always  provides  some 
scraps  of  remedy. — ) 

I  trust  that  you  noticed  a  fine  sentence 
of  mine,  some  way  back,  where  I  spoke  of 
the  goddess  Fortune.  That  was  only  a 
fine  sentence.      It   did    not  go   to   the  root 


112  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

■  of  the  matter.  It  was  chiefly  false.  It  Is  not 
that  Fortune  becomes  tired  of  any  man  or 
people,  at  least  of  any  sensible  man  or  sen- 
sible people.  Fortune  is  in  reality  very  just. 
But  why  these  great  kings,  conquerors,  and 
statesmen  fail,  is,  because  they  will  attempt 
similar  things — things  similar  to  their  former 
successes — under  dissimilar  circumstances. 
They  think  that  they  have  done  the  whole 
business,  and  that  the  circumstances  have 
had  little  to  do  with  it. 

Milverton.    Very  good,  indeed,  Ellesmere  ! 

(Ellesmere  got  up,  made  a  bow,  and  then 
resumed.) 

For  instance,  a  nation  has  been  down- 
trodden for  some  time,  has  not  had  its 
fair  weight  in  the  world's  proceedings ; 
and  then  a  great  general  leads  its  armies 
on  to  victory.  For  a  certain  time  that  elan 
lasts.  And  the  conquering  general  will  go 
on  attempting  to  conquer  when  his  troops 
have   no   longer   the  vigour    of    their    first 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  113 

despair,  and  when  the  opponents  have 
become  wary  from  frequent  defeat.  He  did 
not  know  when  to  leave  off. 

I  shall  show  you  that  I  do  know,  by  not 
dwelling-  upon  any  details  or  any  formal 
illustrations  of  the  same  failure  in  civil 
affairs,  how  and  when  to  leave  off.  I  shall 
merely  say  that  a  ministry  which  seeks  to 
do  in  its  fourth  year  of  power  anything" 
similar  to  what  it  attempted  to  do,  and 
did,  in  its  first  year  of  power,  is  a  ministry 
which  does  not  know  how  to  leave  off. 

I  now  proceed  to  advise  the  minor 
personages.  Fortunately  there  are  few  of 
us  who  are  kings  or  conquerors,  or  the 
heroes  in  novels.  But  there  is  the  man 
who  has  to  make  an  oration  or  a  discourse. 
I  say  he  is  a  noodle  if  he  has  not  previously 
determined  how  and  when  he  shall  leave 
off.  One  of  the  great  arts  is,  that  he 
should  be  all  along-  preparing-  for  his  con- 
clusion, or  peroration,  or  whatever  you  may 
call  it;  but  it  should  not  be  too  clearly 
anticipated.       To    have    its    full    effect,    it 

I 


114  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

should  have  a  little  of  surprise  in  it.  It 
is  not  necessary  that  it  should  be  a  great 
unwieldy  sentence  of  many  clauses.  If  I 
may  venture  to  quote  Scripture  in  an  essay 
which  has  perhaps  been  a  little  too  light 
in  texture  for  the  introduction  of  solemn 
and  sacred  words,  I  would  say  that  there 
is  no  ending  so  grand  and  so  effective  as 
that  which  closes  one  great  period  of  the 
Life  that  has  been  of  most  import  to  the 
world.     "  Now  Barabbas  was  a  robber." 

Well  then,  as  regards  ordinary  daily 
affairs,  in  which  most  of  us  manifest  so 
little  discretion  in  leaving  off.  This  in- 
discretion is  the  result  of  shyness,  and 
often  the  result  of  a  sense  of  failure. 

This  latter  motive  occurs  largely  in 
speech-making.  A  man  goes  floundering 
on  in  the  hope  of  redeeming  himself,  and 
winning  back  the  attention  of  his  audi- 
ence which  he  feels  he  has  lost  ;  but  the 
hope  is,  for  the  most  part,  vain.  It  is  an 
exceedingly  difficult  thing  to  regain  that 
attention    which    has    at    the   outset    been 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  115 

given  to  you,  but  which  you  have  forfeited 
by  disappointing  it. 

This  essay  would  be  incomplete,  if  it 
did  not  touch  upon  the  errors  which  are 
made  in  literature,  in  reference  to  the  art 
of  leaving-  off  You  can  point  to  few  works 
of  any  mark  in  which  there  are  not  to  be 
seen  too  much  explanation,  too  much 
amplification,  and  in  which  the  salient 
points  do  not  come  at  too  great  a  distance 
from  each  other.  More  and  more  demands 
are  being  made  upon  the  time  of  each  of 
us,  as  civilization  advances  ;  and  those 
authors  will  have  the  greatest  chance  of 
being  listened  to  now,  and  being  occasionally 
referred  to  by  posterity,  who  know  how  to 
put  their  points  of  thought  or  argument  suc- 
t:inctly,  and  in  sufficiently  rapid  succession. 

I  conclude  by  recalling  to  your  minds 
a  fact,  and  you  must  have  noticed  it,  which 
is  to  be  observed  in  the  singing  of  certain 
songs.  There  shall  be  a  song  sung  by 
some  great  artist  with  an  ending,  admirable 
in  every  respect,  to  which  even  those  who, 


ii6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

like  myself,  delight  in  a  grand  and  con- 
clusive outburst  of  satisfying  harmony,  can 
make  no  objection.  Yet,  if  afterwards,  the 
person  accompanying  the  singer  plays  only 
a  few  bars  to  wind  up,  as  it  were,  the 
accompaniment,  the  ending  of  the  song 
loses  much  of  its  effect  upon  the  audience ; 
and  the  applause  is  not  so  fervent  as  it 
would  have  been,  if  the  vocal  and  the 
instrumental  music  had  ceased  at  one  and 
the  same  moment. 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  minute  or  two 
after  Sir  John  had  ceased  reading.  Then 
Mr.  Milverton  spoke 

MilverUvi.  I  like  your  essay  very  much,  Ellesmere. 
I  should  not  call  it  an  essay,  though,  but  a  speech. 

Lady  Ellesmere.     That  is  just  what  I  told  you,  John.  * 

Ellesmere.  I  don't  care  what  you  call  it.  Of  course 
I  am  more  accustomed  to  makhig  speeches  than  to 
writing  essays  ;  and  I  told  you  from  the  first  that  I  was 
not  a  practised  writer. 

Craftmer.  I  must  say  that  Ellesmere  has  shown 
great  originality.  He  admitted  that  he  had  written  one 
sentence  which,  though  fine,  was  erroneous;  I  think  he 
said  "  false." 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  1 1 7 

Milvej-ton.  I  remember,  when  I  was  young,  writing 
some  paper — about  sanitary  matters  I  think  it  was — and 
showing  it  to  an  older  and  much  wiser  friend,  I  dare 
say  it  was  full  of  the  exuberant  faults  of  youthfulness. 
He  said  to  me,  "  My  dear  fellow,  I  foresee  that  this  is 
not  the  only  thing  you  will  write.  Let  me  give  you  a 
bit  of  advice.  Whenever  you  write  a  sentence  that 
particularly  pleases  you,  cut  it  out."  Of  course,  such  a 
saying  is  not  to  be  taken  at  the  "  foot  of  the  letter,"  as 
the  French  would  say ;  but  there  is  a  depth  of  wisdom 
in  it.  I  have  thought  of  it  a  hundred  tunes  since;  and 
I  hope  it  has  done  me  some  good. 

Ellcsinere.  I  believe  that  I  have,  in  this  essay  (I 
shall  call  it  an  essay),  laid  down  the  foundation  for  a 
practice  which  would  conduce  immensely  to  truthful 
ness.  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story  about  that 
sentence.  When  I  had  written  it,  I  own  I  was  pleased 
with  it.  I  read  it  to  Lady  Ellesmere  when  she  came 
up  stairs.  She  thought  it  very  good.  Then,  in  the 
middle  of  the  night,  I  bethought  me  that  it  was  all 
nonsense — poetic  nonsense — and  that  the  real  reason 
why  these  conquerors,  kings,  and  statesmen  often  make 
but  a  sorry  ending,  is,  that  the  things  they  keep  on 
doing,  having  once  done  them  with  success,  are  not 
truly  similar,  on  account  of  the  variation  of  the 
surrounding  circumstances.  It  is  not  that  the  by- 
standers become  weary  of  the  same  thing  being  done ; 
but    that    the    same    thing   cannot    be   done.      But    I 


ii8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

couldn't  cut  out  my  sentence.  Virtue  has  its  limits — • 
certainly  with  such  a  fallible  mortal  as  I  am,  so  I  kept 
my  fine  sentence,  but  got  up  early  to  smite  it  afterwards. 

Now  you  know  that  is  a  bright  example,  and  what 
is  better  than  a  bright  example,  it  is  a  useful  example. 
A  man  cannot  bear  to  "cut  out"  something  that  he  has 
taken  great  pains  in  elaborating;  but  he  may  be  able  to 
say,  "  this  was  not  the  whole  truth,  and  now  I  will  tell 
you  what  is  the  truth."  He  saves  his  vanity :  he 
anticipates  the  critics :  he  is,  in  these  his  dominions, 
supreme.     I  have  given  an  example  to  all  authors. 

Sir  Arl/wr.  Touching  the  great  question  of  Leaving 
Off,  might  one  not  say,  Ellesmere,  that  some  of  the 
eminent  men  in  your  profession  would  do  well  to  leave 
off,  occasionally,  a  little  earlier  than  they  do? 

Ellesmere.  No,  no.  If  you  jurymen  were  wiser,  or, 
at  least,  sharper  than  you  are,  advocates  might  be  more 
succinct  and  reticent ;  but  not  otherwise. 

Milverton.  If  Johnson  has  not  belied  you — I  mean 
you  who  were  out  walking  the  other  day — other  subjects 
for  essays  occurred  to  you.  I  wish  very  much  to  gain 
attention  from  you  for  my  own  subject,  which  has 
infinitely  more  need  of  discussion  than  your  merely 
playful  subjects.  Ah!  my  good  friends,  if  you  could 
but  see  what  might  be  done  for  the  inhabitants  of 
great  towns,  you  would  not  think  the  subject  dull  !  We 
think  the  greatest  subjects  dull,  because  we  have  not 
the  heart,  or  the  soul,  to  see  their-greatness. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  119 

Elksmere.  Don't  get  in  a  rage,  Milverton.  Fury- 
is  the  particular  foible  of  philosophers. 

Milverton.  I  am  willing  to  humour  you,  as  far  as  I 
am  concerned ;  and,  therefore,  I  say,  go  on  if  it  pleases 
you  with  some  of  the  topics  which  you  started  in  your 
walk.  I  think  I  heard  that  Mauleverer  maintained  that 
the  folly  of  mankind  was  a  constant  quantity  in  all  ages. 

Mauleverer.  I  have  not  been  misrepresented.  How- 
ever much  it  may  offend  your  praises  of  mankind,  I  do 
hold  that  theory. 

Milverton.  Well,  then,  give  us  an  opportunity  of 
discussing  it.     Say  your  say  in  an  essay. 

Mauleverer.  I,  for  once,  agree  with  Ellesmere, 
namely,  as  to  the  practice  necessary  for  authovbhip.  I 
can't  write  essays.  He  can  make  speeches.  I  can't  do 
that ;  but  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will  do.  I  will  write  a 
letter  to  an  imaginary  American  friend,  who,  I  will 
suppose,  has  asked  me  the  question,  whether  this 
amount  of  folly  is  constant  or  not.  You  must  not 
expect  fine  writing  from  me.  I  shall  have  nothing  to 
"  cut  out,"  and  nothing  of  my  own  to  answer,  afier  the 
fashion  of  Sir  John  Ellesmere. 

We  all  agreed  that  it  would  be  delightful 

to  hear  what   Mr.   Mauleverer  would   indite 

upon  this  interesting  subject;  and  then  we 
went  our  several  ways. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

ly/TR.  MAULEVERER  asked  Mr.  Mil- 
verton  to  lend  me  to  him  as  an 
amanuensis  for  a  day  or  two,  while  he  was 
preparing  his  promised  letter  to  the  Ameri- 
can. 

The  number  of  books  which  Mr.  Mau- 
leverer  desired  me  to  find  for  him  in  the 
library  was  astonishing.  Luckily  it  was 
a  library  of  great  extent.  His  researches 
were  chiefly  historical ;  and  I  supposed  that 
we  should  have  one  of  the  most  learned  and 
elaborate  letters  that  had  ever  been  written 
by  an  Englishman  to  an  American. 

At  length,  the  letter  having  been  written, 
we  met,  by  appointment.  In  the  library. 
Mr.  Mauleverer  declared  that  he  was  ready 
to  begin,  and  commenced  at  once. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  121 

**  My  dear  Friend, — It  is  a  question  of 
much  interest  that  you  have  put  before  me 
— namely,  '  whether  the  folly  in  the  world  is, 
or  is  not,  a  constant  quantity.'  You  are 
right  in  referring"  this  grave  question  to  an 
inhabitant  of  the  Old  World  ;  because,  doubt- 
less, we  have  had  a  longer  experience  of 
human  folly  than  you  have  had,  though  I  feel 
confident  that,  even  with  your  smaller  experi- 
ence, you  will  be  able  to  clench  the  opinion 
which  I  shall  give  in  the  matter. 

"  I  had  at  first  thought  that,  exhausting 
the  records  of  history,  I  would  prove  to  you 
that  my  theory  is  the  true  one ;  but  such 
elaboration  is  needless. 

*'  I  began  by  enumerating  the  follies  and 
the  mistakes  of  each  age.  It  will  be  useful, 
perhaps,  if  I  recount  some  of  them  to  you. 

"  There  were  times  in  which  we  men 
believed  that  there  was  something  divine 
in  every  herb,  flower,  and  tree ;  when  we 
understood  that  there  were  nymphs  and 
satyrs  in  every  wood ;  when  we  prayed  to 
every   god    and    goddess   whom   we    could 


122  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

possibly  invest  wilh  an  imaginary  existence. 
We  acknowledged  the  rights  of  our  neigh- 
bour by  considering  him  as  the  first  person 
to  be  attacked  ;  and  we  relieved  him  from 
the  burden  of  his  wives  and  his  children  by 
making  them  slaves.  At  the  same  time  we 
wrote  very  fine  poetry,  and  concluded  that 
we,  on  this  small  ball  of  earth,  were  the  sole 
inhabitants  of  the  universe. 

'*  Then  came  a  change  over  the  spirit  of 
our  dream.  We  believed  in  the  unity  of 
the  Godhead.  Not  content,  however,  with 
this  belief,  we  were  good  enough  to  lay 
down  the  exact  limits  of  the  Godhead's 
nature  and  its  action.  We  ascertained  truth 
upon  the  most  recondite  matters  by  slaying 
those  who  did  not  exactly  agree  with  our 
opinions.  Often  neither  we,  nor  the  people 
we  slew  or  burnt,  could  agree  upon  the 
meanirg  of  the  terms  we  used.  We  had 
been  taught  that  we  should  be  as  good  and 
kind  to  others  as  to  ourselves ;  and,  feeling 
that  we  should  like  to  be  slain  or  burnt,  if 
we  were   in   the  least  degree  wrong  about 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  123 

our  views  of  the  world  and  its  g^overnment, 
we  slew  or  burnt  those  who  differed  from  us 
in  the  slightest  particular. 

**  In  secular  matters  we  felt,  that  the  larger 
the  empire,  that  could  be  subjected  to  one 
sovereign,  the  better  it  would  be  governed  ; 
and,  consequently,  we  each  fought  for  our 
respective  sovereigns  ;  and  we  killed,  burned, 
murdered,  and  enslaved,  upon  the  highest 
principles  of  imperial  benevolence. 

"Another  change  came  over  the  spirit  of 
our  dream.  We  thought  that  everybody  was 
as  good  and  wise  as  every  other  body ;  and 
that  nobody  should  be  without  anything 
which  anybody  else  possessed.  This  pro- 
duced the  same  amount  of  killing,  slaughter- 
ing, and  enslaving  as  heretofore.  The  only 
change  was  one  of  theory.  Each  one  of  us 
was  to  be  the  sovereign  for  .whom  we  fought. 

*'  Throughout  most  of  these  periods,  we 
believed  that  certain  of  our  fellow-creatures 
possessed  the  power  of  injuring  us  and  our 
cattle  in  some  mysterious  manner.  We 
burned  or  drowned  those  potent  personages 


IJ4  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

whom,  by  Infallible  signs,  we  knew  to  be 
possessed  of  this  power. 

"  Coming-  to  the  present  day,  we  do  not 
believe  that  this  mysterious  power  exists  in 
our  fellow-creatures.  We  think — at  least, 
some  few  of  us  do — that  we  are  not  com- 
petent to  decide  irrefragably  upon  the 
nature,  intentions,  and  objects  of  the 
Supreme  Power  of  the  universe.  But  we 
still  think  that  the  best  mode  of  settling 
any  doubtful  question  which  may  arise 
between  two  sets  of  human  beings,  having 
different  modes  of  speech,  is  to  ascertain 
which  should  be  able  to  kill  the  greatest 
number  of  the  other  side. 

**  All  this  time,  my  dear  friend,  we  were 
too  much  occupied  in  considering  who  we 
are  and  why  we  are  here,  and  what  will 
become  of  us  hereafter,  to  give  our  minds 
to  such  trivial  matters  as  to  how  we  should 
be  fed,  clothed,  or  housed,  and  in  what 
enjoyment  or  recreation  we  should  spend 
that  portion  of  time  which  remains  to  us 
after  our  daily  work. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  125 

*'  Forgive  me,  my  dear  friend,  for  leading 
you  through  the  long  account  of  the  follies 
we  have  committed.  It  has  little  whatever 
to  do  with  the  question.  One  rung  in  a 
ladder  (have  you  that  word  '  rung '  in 
America  ?)  cannot  say  that  it  is  different  in 
form  or  nature  from  any  other  rung  in  the 
ladder,  simply  because  it  happens  to  be  in 
a  higher  position.  Turn  the  ladder  the 
other  way,  and  it  is  the  lower  rung.  And 
so  it  is  with  the  ages  of  mankind.  The 
folly  at  all  times  is  a  constant  quantity. 
From  the  nature  of  a  ladder.  It  is  inevitable 
that  one  rung  must  be  higher  than  another ; 
and,  when  you  come  to  the  top  of  this  par- 
ticular ladder,  it  leads  to  nothing  and  to 
nowhere. 

"The  essential  folly  of  mankind  does  not 
vary.  If  you  doubt  that,  let  us  go  into 
detail.  For  instance,  it  is  surely  a  folly 
that  men  should  be  led  by  eloquence  instead 
of  by  reason.  Are  they  less  the  slaves  of 
eloquence  now  than  they  ever  were  ? 

**  It  is  surely  a  great  folly  that  men  should 


126  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

believe  in  the  exceeding'  pleasantness  of 
riches.  Are  they  less  convinced  of  that 
now  than  they  ever  were  ? 

"  It  is  surely  a  folly  that  men  should  be 
jealous  of  one  another,  and  that  everybody 
should  wish  to  be  uppermost.  Is  that  folly 
diminished  ?  Are  the  strivings  to  rise,  in 
what  they  call  society,  at  all  less  now  than 
they  ever  were  ? 

"  We  have  been  told  to  love  one  another. 
Do  people  love  one  another  more  or  less 
at  present  than  they  ever  did?  Is  not  this 
love,  or  the  want  of  it,  a  constant  quantity  ? 

"Is  misunderstanding  less  frequent?  Is 
misrepresentation  less  frequent  ?  Wider 
publicity  is  given  to  everything-.  Has 
truthfulness  in  the  least  degree  increased 
with  the  increase  of  publicity  ? 

"Has  friendship  increased?     Anxious  as. 
I  am  to  show  the  uniformity  of  human  life, 
I   should  say  that  this,  one  of  the  greatest 
soothers  of  human  misery,  has  decreased. 

"  It  may  be,  that  the  powers  of  imagina- 
tion   in    men    have   increased,    and,    conse- 


■^     SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  127 

quently,  that  they  feel  a  little  more  than 
they  used  to  do,  for  the  physical  pain  of 
others.  They  are  good  enough  to  provide 
medicaments  for  those  whom  they  still,  as 
recklessly  as  ever,  wound  in  battle.  But 
has  this  increase  of  imagination  done  any- 
thing to  quell  the  real  evils  of  mankind, 
such  as  war  ?  Are  the  armies  of  Europe 
less  in  number  than  they  were  in  former 
times  ?  I  am  told  that,  in  former  ages,  three 
or  four  hundred  thousand  men  contrived  to  do 
the  fighting  business  of  Europe ;  whereas 
now  five  or  six  millions  are  considered 
to  be  necessary  for  this  entirely  Christian 
occupation.  I  descend,  as  the  eminent 
essayist  who  preceded  me" — 

EUesmcre.     Brother   Jonathan    won't    know   anything 
about  this  eminent  essayist. 

— "  I  descend,  as  an  eminent  essayist  has 
said,  to  consider  the  minor  matters  con- 
nected with  my  subject.  Is  dress  less 
foolish  ?  Is  entertainment  less  foolish  now  than 


128  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

it  ever  was  ?  I  am  told  by  historical  books 
that  when  people  burnt  other  people,  for 
differing  with  them  about  something  in 
which  a  single  vowel  showed  the  difference, 
that  at  any  rate  the  burners  and  the  burned 
dined  at  reasonable  times,  and  that  all  their 
daily  proceedings  had  some  reference  to 
the  movements  of  that  great  luminary,  the 
sun. 

"  No,  my  dear  friend.  Mankind  are  a 
little  more  sensitive  than  they  used  to  be, 
which  sensitiveness  increases  pain  at  least 
as  much  as  pleasure.  Their  objects  may 
appear  to  be  a  shade  less  absurd,  because 
they  happen  to  be  on  the  higher  rung  of 
the  ladder ;  but  their  own  inherent  folly  is  as 
great,  as  constant,  and  as  abiding  as  ever. 
"  I  remain, 

"Yours  very  sincerely, 

"  Ernest  JMauleverer. 

*'  P.S. — Don't  imagine  that  because  your 
folly  differs  slightly  from  ours  in  quality, 
that   it   is   less   in    quantity.     The   folly   of 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  129 

youth  is  not  one    whit   less   than    the  folly 
of  middle-age." 

Milvc7-ton.  Well.  Alauleverer,  you  have  stated  j^our 
case  very  well ;  but  your  statement  is  outrageously  unjust. 
Your  letter  is  artful ;  but  its  art  does  not  cover  its 
inadequacy  to  prove  your  case.  You  were  obliged  to 
own  that  we  had  become  more  sensitive  to  human  suffer- 
ing ;  that,  in  general,  we  had  become  more  imaginative. 
That  increase  of  imagination  will  always  extend  as  civili- 
zation advances,  and  there  is  no  telling  the  good  that 
it  will  produce.  You  sneer  at  our  being  so  anxious  to 
cure  the  wounds  of  those  who  are  wounded  in  battle. 
Don't  you  see  that  this  is  the  commencement  of  the  end 
of  all  fighting?  It  may  be  that  the  end  is  a  long  way 
off;  but  a  hard,  if  not  a  fatal,  blow  has  been  given  to 
fighting,  by  this  care  for  those  who  are  injured  in  battle. 
Is  it  nothing  that  the  first  and  best  men  in  the  w-orld 
have  raised  their  voices  against  slavery  ?  Is  it  nothing 
that  the  absurdities  of  the  belief  in  witchcraft  should  have 
ceased  to  influence  us  ? 

Your  simile  about  the  rungs  of  the  ladder  is  ingenious, 
but  it  won't  hold  good.  You  are  comparing  something 
physical  with  something  mental.  The  platform  of 
thought  upon  which  each  generation  finds  itself  placed, 
is  a  platform  of  a  \(:.\y  different  kiiul  from  that  of  the 
preceding  thirty  years. 

Maulevercr.     I   did   not  descend  into  mean  details  \ 


I30  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

but,  if  you  talk  in  this  high-flown  manner,  I  must  make 
my  objections  in  detail.  There  are  four  imijortant  things 
which  concern  man's  life  a  good  deal,  namely,  his  dress, 
his  dwelling-place,  his  food,  his  festivities.  Now  for  the 
first. 

Ellcsvicre.  Oh  !  I  give  up  dress  ;  that  is,  as  regards 
the  female  species. 

Sir  Arthur.  Men  have  decidedly  improved  in  dress; 
and  this  generation  has  shown  less  folly  than  the 
previous  one,  and  much  less  folly  than  the  one  preceding 
that. 

Lady  Ellesmere.  What  they  have  gained  in  sense 
they  have  lost  by  hideousness. 

I  won't  enter  into  the  subject  of  women's  dress, 
because  you  men  are  apt  to  be  so  rude  in  talking  of  that 
matter  ;  but  I  believe  that,  what  Sir  Arthur  said  about 
men's  dress,  exactly  applies  to  women's  dress. 

Mrs.  Milverton.  I  remember  hearing  from  an  old  lady, 
who  was  the  youngest  of  several  sisters,  how,  after  her  hair 
had  been  powdered  and  arranged  into  some  grand  form, 
a  foot  in  height,  she  was  not  allowed  to  sleep,  or,  at  least, 
to  go  to  bed,  on  the  night  preceding  a  county  ball,  lest 
this  vast  and  elaborate  structure  should  be  discomposed. 
As  she  was  the  youngest,  her  hair  had  to  be  dressed  first, 
and  so  she  had  the  longest  time  to  wait,  taking  what 
rest  she  could  in  a  constrained  position,  watched  by  her 
anxious  mother.  The  men,  too,  then  must  have  been 
equally  foolish,  for  I  have  been  told  of  regiments  of 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  131 

soldiers  whose  pigtails  were  arrangjed  the  night  before  a 
review  or  early  parade ;  and  I  suppose  that  these  poor 
fellows  did  not  dare  to  sleep  any  more  than  this  young 
lady. 

MaidtTerer.  I  am  delighted  to  see  you  are  so  satisfied 
about  dress.     We  will  now  come  to  the  dwelling-place. 

Milve?io7i,  My  dear  Mauleverer,  each  of  these  sub- 
jects you  bring  before  us  is  really  so  large  in  extent,  that 
it  would  require  hours  to  discuss  it,  and  experts  to  do  so 
adequately.  I  am  ready  to  admit,  as  I  have  often 
admitted  before,  that  there  has  been  less  improvement 
in  architecture  tlian  in  any  other  human  device;  but 
there  is  one  great  reason  for  this  which,  in  itself,  shows 
improvement.  Locomotion  having  so  greatly  increased 
and  improved,  the  dwelling-place  has  become,  or  seems 
to  have  become,  of  less  importance.  I  own  that  it 
is  less  substantial,  and  great  evils  follow  from  want 
of  substantiality. 

Mauleverer.     Now,  about  food. 

Ellesmere.  Here  our  opponent  is  in  great  force.  For 
my  part  I  give  up. 

Sir  Arthur.     I  do  not. 

Mrs.  Milverton.     Nor  I. 

Milverton.  I  am  incompetent  to  deal  with  this  matter. 
I  can  only  say  that  most  dinners  in  our  class  of  life  seem 
to  me  to  be  too  expensive,  too  elaborate.  Let  us  skip 
this  subject. 

Mauleverer.     I  cannot  consent  to  that,  for  I  maintain 


132  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

tliat  the  ladies  of  the  present  day  have  much  less  know- 
ledge of  cookery,  and  suffer  much  more  waste  in  their 
households,  than  their  ancestresses  did.  Eut  what  do 
you  say  about  festivities — about  the  amusements  of  man- 
kind ? 

Sir  A/i/iiir.  Well,  I  say,  for  one,  that  the  greatest 
amusement  in  the  worlil,  nair.ely,  music,  has  largely 
increased,  and  has  judiciously  increased. 

Maulrverer.  Let  us  be  a  little  more  general  in  our 
treatment  of  this  part  of  the  subject.  Can  anything  be 
more  comprehensively  absurd  than  the  times  and  seasons 
for  amusement  chosen  in  the  present  day?  If  I  were  to 
go  back  to  the  novels,  the  biographies,  and  even  the 
histories  of  former  periods,  I  could  show  you  that  balls 
began  at  seven  and  ended  at  twelve ;  that  great  dinners 
were  transacted  at  reasonable  times,  before  the  digestive 
powers  of  mankind  were  exhausted  by  the  labours  of  the 
day.  And  that,  in  fact,  to  put  the  matter  in  a  large  and 
general  way,  our  ancestors  had  a  great  regard  and  respect 
for  the  night. 

Ellesmere.    He  is  not  far  wrong  there,  Milverton ! 

Milverton.     I  have  nothing  to  say  in  answer  to  that. 

Mrs.  Milverton.  I  have,  but  I  hardly  dare  say  it.  I 
know  you  w-ill  laugh  at  me. 

Milverton.  Don't  be  afraid,  my  dear ;  I  will,  as  in 
duty  bound,  m.aintain  the  wisdom  of  your  argument, 
whatever  it  may  be. 

Mrs.    Milverion.     Well,    then,    everybody   isn't    very 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  133 

beautiful  by  day ;  and  few  things  are  so  beautiful  by 
day  as  by  night.  I  have  not  your  memory,  Leonar.l, 
otherwise  I  could  quote  a  splendid  passage  trom 
Byron,  I  think  it  is  in  "  Childe  Harold,"  where  he 
speaks  of  the  moon  turning  even  ungainly  objects  into 
beauty, 

Ellcsmei-e.     Well,  Mrs.  Milverton,  proceed. 

Mrs.  Alilverton.  I  have  only  to  say  that  gaslight  and 
candlelight  do  the  same  thing  in-doors  tliat  the  moon  does 
out-of-doors.  We  have  all  been  quoting  our  ancestors, 
and  I  remember  what  my  mother  used  to  tell  me  of  the 
general  effect  of  comparative  ugliness  when  the  gentlemen 
and  ladies  used  to  come  down  in  full  dress,  in  broad, 
blazing  daylight,  to  a  four  o'clock  dinner  in  some  grand 
boarding-house  at  Bath,  Harrogate,  or  Brighton.  I  have 
often  heard  you  gentlemen  of  Oxford  and  Cambridge 
talk  of  "gaudy  days."  It  is  almost  im]:)0ssible  in  day- 
light to  be  judiciously  gaudy.  And,  after  all,  this  gaudi- 
ness  is  what  you  men  delight  in.  I  should  like  to  say 
something  more. 

Elks  mere.     Pray  say  it. 

Mrs.  Milverton.     But  it  is  a  very  delicate  subject. 

Ellesmere.  Never  mind  :  we  are  the  boys  to  appreciate 
delicacy. 

Mrs.  Milverton.  Well,  don't  you  think  that  most  men 
fall  in  love  by  candlelight?  You  need  not  all  laugh  so. 
I  am  sure  it's  true. 

Ellesmere.     Now  would  any  one  but  a  woman  think 


134  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Df  making  such  a  remark?  They  are  so  detestably 
Dbservant  of  small  things. 

Milverton.     Yes  ;  but  she  is  right,  Ellesmere. 

Ellesmae.  But  surely  they  see  their  lovers  by  daylight 
if ter  wards. 

Cranmer.  I  think  these  are  rather  trivialities.  I  had 
expected  that  Milverton,  at  any  rate,  would  have  gone 
into  the  subject  seriously.  • 

Milverton.  Anything  to  oblige  you,  my  dear  Cranmer  ; 
ind,  seriously  speaking,  I  have  an  enormous  objection  to 
all  of  Mauleverer's  theories  on  the  subject.  What  makes; 
it  almost  impossible  to  come  to  any  decided  views  on 
such  a  subject  is  this :  each  man  is  more  sensible,  or  less 
foolish  if  you  choose  to  put  it  so,  than  the  mass  of  men. 

Sir  Arthur.  And,  again,  the  mass  is  more  sensible 
than  each  man. 

EHesmcre.  Witness  the  House  of  Commons,  for 
instance.  As  a  body  they  partake  no  individual 
member's  crotchets.  They  are  wonderfully  common- 
sensible,  taken  as  a  whole. 

Milverton.  Granted  :  but  please  return  to  my  state- 
ment that,  in  many  things,  each  man  is  more  sensible 
than  the  mass  of  men.  But,  mark  you,  for  a  long,  long 
time  he  is  powerless.  Some  folly  reigns,  almost  every 
individual  is  against  it ;  but  he,  the  individual,  is  silent, 
or  he  does  not  take  any  active  part  against  it,  because 
he  fears  that  others  do  not  think  with  him,  and  that 
custom  is^  for  the  moment,  too  strong.     So  the  folly  goes 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,  135 

on,  its  foolishness  being  perceived  and  fully  ap  precialed 
by  thousands.  Mauleverer  made  a  good  point  when  he 
spoke  of  the  lateness  of  the  hours  for  festivity  ;  and  he 
might  have  added,  for  real  business.  My  wife  fought  the 
battle  well  against  him  ;  but  one  must  admit  that  she 
was  not  altogether  victorious.  Thousands  of  persons 
think  as  we  do  ;  but,  individually,  they  are  powerless. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  some  great  personages  will  adopt 
our  views,  and  then  the  foolish  thing  will,  all  of  a  sudden, 
be  greatly  modified. 

Sij'  Arthur.  What  you  say  is  very  true,  Milverton. 
It  explains  what,  to  me,  was  one  of  the  most  striking 
things  in  one  of  Lecky's  books,  namely,  how  the  idiotic 
belief  in  witchcraft  appeared  suddenly  to  fade  away.  I 
have  no  doubt  that  thousands  of  persons  had  perceived 
this  idiotcy.  Then  some  one,  whom  history  does  not 
think  it  worth  its  while  to  mention,  made  a  protest 
against  the  folly ;  and  the  effect  of  this  protest  spread 
like  lightning. 

The  folly  dropped  off  from  mankind  widiout  much 
being  said  about  it ;  and  that  is  why  we  do  not  know  the 
full  history  of  the  transaction. 

Milverton.  Now  I  will  give  you  an  account  of  the 
rise  of  a  folly — one  of  the  greatest  follies,  to  my  think- 
ing, that  has  arisen  in  our  time.  I  will  not  specify  it, 
lest  that  should  produce  Icngtliy  discussion.  You  must 
assume  for  the  moment  with  me  that  it  is  a  folly.  It 
has  arisen  in  consequence  of  two  or  three  one-idead  men 


136  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

being  placed,  in  power,  and  being  not  only  able  to  talk 
out  their  one  idea,  but  also  to  bring  it  into  practical  life. 
Now  I  know,  not  only  from  conversation  with  my  own 
Iriends,  but  from  the  talk  in  omnibuses  and  railway  car- 
riages, that  the  majority  of  men  perceive  the  complete  folly 
of  this  foolish  thing.  But  there  comes  in  the  Conserva- 
tive element,  very  powerful  for  good,  very  powerful  also 
for  the  maintenance  of  evil ;  and  this  foolish  thing  will 
be  fought  over  for  a  generation  or  two,  before  it  is  reduced 
within  due  limits. 

Now  do  you  see  what  I  am  driving  at— what  all  this 
comes  to?  It  means,  that  you  must  not  condemn  indi- 
vidual men  for  folly,  until  you  know  whether  they  are 
really  consenting  to  the  folly ;  and,  as  I  intimated  before, 
each  man  maybe  much  less  guilty  than  he  appears  to 
be ;  than,  for  instance,  he  would  appear  to  a  foreigner, 
on  account  of  a  foolish  practice  being  prevalent  in  his 
country. 

Sir  AriJntr.  You  may  talk  against  man  as  much  as 
you  like,  but  what  a  wonderful  creature  he  is  !  If  he. 
started  as  a  gelatinous  ascidian,  how  he  has  got  on  in  the 
world  1  He  tells  us,  now,  what  are  the  metals  that  are 
predominant  in  the  distant  stars. 

Ellesmere.  Yes  :  no  doubt  he  is  very  grand ;  but,  as 
a  bird  discovers  its  nest  by  foolish  chirruping  and  twit- 
tering whenever  you  come  near  it,  so  does  man  discover 
his  folly,  mostly  by  his  talk.  What  a  sensible  fellow  he 
would  seem  to  be,  if  he  were  but  silent !     I  must  go.     I 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  137 

see  the  gas-man  at  the  gate.  Some  of  these  confounded 
gas-pipes  have  gone  wrong  in  the  house.  These  are  your 
fine  inventions.  The  dips  of  our  youth  gave  us  no 
trouble,  except  in  the  snuffing.  I  hope  no  one  will 
invent  any  new  thing  in  my  time.  I  am  wholly  with 
Mauleverer  on  this  point.  All  your  inventions  end  in 
being  a  great  trouble  to  a  father  of  a  fimily. 

So  saying,  Ellesmere  left  the  room. 

Alilverton.  I  have  only  one  thing  more  to  say,  but  to 
my  mind  it  is  convincing.  I  believe  that  cruelty  is  the 
greatest  folly  in  the  world ;  and  certainly  that  particular 
folly  has  steadily  diminished  from  age  to  age.  That's 
my  answer,  in  brief,  to  Mauleverer's  letter.  What  his 
American  friend  will  say  remains  to  be  seen. 

No  one  seemed  Inclined  to  continue  the 
conversation,  and  the  library  was  soon  de- 
serted. 


CHAPTER   X. 

T     ^^'ILL    here    give    an    account   of    the 
conversation  which    took    place   during 
another  of  our   long   walks  in   the   country, 
near  Richmond.     ]\Ir.  Cranmer  began  thus. 

Cranmer.      While   we   are   thinking  of   subjects   for 
essays,  I  should  like  to  suggest  "  Hospilality." 

Eilcsmere.  It  is  a  pretty  subject,  but,  if  treated  by 
Milverton  or  Sir  Arthur,  or  any  regular  essayist,  it  would 
be  sure  to  be  made  too  lengthy.  We  should  have 
ancient  and  modern  hospitality  contrasted.  We  should 
be  told  which  had  been  the  most  hospitable  nation  in 
the  world.  The  nice  question,  whether  there  was  more 
hospitality  in  the  east  or  in  the  west,  would  be  deftly 
discussed.  And  what  is  desirable  to  be  said  would  be 
overlaid  by  this  somewhat  superfluous  discourse.  I 
could  give  you  a  neat  little  essay  consisting  of  about  a 
dozen  sentences  which  would  include  all  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  say. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  139 

Cranmer.  Pray  let  us  have  these  dozen  sentences  as 
quickly  as  possible. 

Ellesmere.  Official  men  are  so  given  to  deal  with 
all  questions  "  as  quickly  as  possible,"  that  they  require 
the  same  unnatural  speed  from  other  human  beings,  I 
must  have  some  little  time  to  collect  my  thoughts. 

We  walked  on  for  some  minutes  in 
silence,  in  order  that  Sir  John  might  have 
time  to  collect  his  thoughts ;  and  then  he 
thus  began. 

Ellesmere.  A  perfect  host  is  as  rare  a  being  as  a 
great  poet;  and  for  much  the  same  reason,  namely,  that 
to  be  a  perfect  host,  requires  as  rare  a  combination  of 
qualities  as  those  which  are  needed  to  produce  a  great 
poet.  He  should  be  like  that  lord-in-waiting  of  whom 
Charles  II.  said,  that  he  was  "never  in  the  way  and  never 
out  of  the  way."  He  should  never  degenerate  into  a 
showman,  for  there  is  nothing  of  which  most  people 
are  so  soon  weary  as  "of  being  shown  things,  especially  if 
they  are  called  upon  to  admire  them.  He,  the  perfect 
host,  should  always  recollect  that  he  is  in  his  own  home, 
and  that  his  guests  are  not  in  theirs :  consequently 
those  local  arrangements  which  are  familiar  to  him 
should  be  rendered  familiar  to  them.  His  v'ww  should 
be  to  make  his  house  a  home  for  his  guests,  with  all 


MO  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

the  advantage  of  novelty.  If  he  entertains  many  guests, 
he  should  know  enough  about  them  to  be  sure  that 
he  has  invited  those  who  will  live  amicably  together, 
and  will  enjoy  each  other's  society.  He  should  show 
no  favouritism,  if  possible ;  and  if  he  is  a  man  who 
must  indulge  in  favouritism,  it  should  be  to  those  of 
his  guests  who  are  more  obscure  than  the  others.  He 
should  be  judiciously  despotic  as  regards  all  pro- 
posals for  pleasure,  for  there  will  be  many  that  are 
diverse,  and  much  time  will  be  wasted  if  he  does  not 
take  upon  himself  the  labour  and  the  responsibility 
of  decision.  He  should  have  much  regard  to  the 
comings  and  goings  of  his  guests,  so  as  to  provide  eveiy 
convenience  for  their  adit  and  their  exit.  Now  I  am 
going  to  insist  on  what  I  think  to  be  a  very  great 
point.  This  is  not  to  count  as  a  sentence.  He  should 
aim  at  causing  that  his  guests  should  hereafter  become 
friends,  if  they  are  not  so  at  present,  so  that  they 
might,  in  future  days,  trace  back  the  beginning  of  their 
friendship  to  their  having  met  together  at  his  house. 
Now  that  last  sentence  would  please  Milverton,  I  know. 
My  remark  about  it  will  not  coirnt  as  a  sentence.  I 
mean  to  keep  strictly  to  the  dozen.  He,  the  perfect 
host,  must  have  the  art  to  lead  conversation  without 
absorbing  it  himself,  so  that  he  may  develop  the 
best  qualities  of  his  guests.  His  expense  in  entertain- 
ment should  not  be  devoted  to  what  is  luxurious,  but 
to  what  is  comfortable  and  enabHng.     The  first  of  all 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  141 

things  is  that  he  should  be  an  affectionate,  indeed, 
a  loving  host,  so  that  every  one  of  his  guests  should 
feel  that  he  is  really  welcome.  He  should  press 
them  to  stay ;  but  should  be  careful  that  this  pressing 
does  not  interfere  with  their  convenience,  so  that  they 
stay  merely  to  oblige  him,  and  not  to  please  themselves. 
In  considering  who  should  be  his  guests,  he  should 
always  have  a  thought  as  to  those  to  whom  he  would 
render  most  service  by  having  them  as  his  guests  :  his 
poorer  brethren,  his  more  sickly  brethren.  Those 
whom  he  feels  would  gain  most  advantage  by  being  his 
guests,  should  have  the  first  place  in  his  invitations; 
and,  for  this  considerateness,  he  will  be  amply  rewardeil 
by  the  benefits  he  will  have  conferred. 

Maiileverer.  I  seldom  praise — praise  injures  most 
people ;  but  I  must  say  that  Ellesmere  has  given  us  an 
excellent  essay.  What, -however,  did  he  mean  by  that 
word  "  enabling,"  as  regards  expense  ? 

Ellesmere.  I  meant  something  of  which,  I  am  afraid, 
you  will  not  heartily  api)rove,  Maulcverer.  I  meant 
that  if  he  had  to  choose  between  the  two  things,  he 
had  better  have  less  sumptuous  dinners,  and  more 
horses  and  carriages,  so  as  to  give  his  guests  a  diversity 
of  amusement,  and  to  render  them  more  independent  of 
himself. 

Cranmer.  What  did  you  mean  when  you  used  the 
words  "  loca!  arrangements  ?  " 

Ellesmere.     Well,  this  will  take  rather  a  long  explana- 


142  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

tion.  I  meant  tliat  all  the  details  which  are  known-  to  a 
man  in  his  own  home  should  be  made  known  to  the 
guests.  They  are  very  trivial  things;  and  I  will  take  a 
trivial  instance.  The  hours  of  the  arrival  and  departure 
of  the  post,  the  distances  of  the  neighbouring  towns, 
the  means  for  telegraphing,  and  a  score  of  other  little 
matters,  should  be  at  once  made  known  to  the  gutsts. 
Then  in  the  arrangement  of  the  rooms,  there  is  so  much 
that  may  be  made  conducive  to  the  comfort  of  a  guest 
by  a  skilful  host  or  hostess.  I  remember,  when  I  was 
attorney-general,  and  lived  more  in  society,  I  was  much 
invited  to  country-houses,  I  hate  going  from  my  own 
home,  except  to  Milverton's,  but  one  is  occasionally 
obliged  to  accept  invitations.  During  this,  the  busiest 
period  of  my  lii'e,  there  were  three  persons  who  struck 
me  as  being  perfect  hosts.  One  was  a  man  of  letters  \ 
I  may  as  well  say  it  was  Dickens.  The  other  was 
an  archbishop,  and  the  third  was  the  prime  minister 
of  the  day,  whose  excellence,  however,  in  hostship 
was  to  be  attributed  to  his  wife.  Now,  with  these 
three  super-eminent  hosts  or  hostesses,  everything  was 
prepared  for  me  that  I  could  possibly  want.  Even 
the  books  were  looked  out  for  me  that  I  should  be 
most  likely  to  require. 

This  minute  care,  however,  is  a  thing  which  one  has 
no  right  to  expect,  and  is,  after  all,  comparatively 
trivial.  If  I  may  presume  to  say  w-hat  is  best  worth 
attending  to  in  my  essay — and  I  am  really  very  much 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  143 

pleased  that  INIauleverer  approves  of  it — it  is  that 
hospitality  should  be  made  useful.  What  kindness 
you  may  do  to  a  rising  man  by  bringing  him  in 
contact  with  those  who  have  risen  !  In  few  w'ords,  I 
would  say  that  hospitality  should  never  be  devoted 
to  the  enjoyment  or  the  glorification  of  the  host  or 
hostess,  but  should  be  devoted  to  the  comfort,  and, 
if  possible,  to  the  future  welfare  of  the  guests.  This 
would  take  hospitality  seme  way,  even  if  only  a  little 
way,  towards  Christianity. 

Well,  then,  there  is  another  thing  I  would  like  to 
say.  I  kept  to  my  twelve  sentences  because  I  said 
I  would,  but  what  I  secretly  wanted  to  add  was  this — 
that  in  all  your  hospitality  you  should  never  forget 
your  own  neighbourhood,  considering  that  neighbour- 
hood from  the  highest  to  the  lowest.  In  these  loco- 
motive days  one  is  too  apt  to  forget  one's  neighbours. 
They,  above  all  people,  should  be  made  to  share  your 
pleasures  and  your  amusements ;  and,  if  this  were  done 
in  every  neighbourhood,  society  would  be  greatly  bene- 
fited, and  people  would  be  held  together.  One  of  the 
greatest  dangers  of  modern  times  is  lest  we  should  live  in 
sets,  as  it  were,  and  should  not  intercommunicate  freely. 

Sir  Arthur.     I  quite  agree  with  you,  P>llesmere. 

Elles77tcre.  I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  what  I 
mean.  Some  of  you  will  recollect  that,  years  ago,  we 
were  very  theatrical  at  Milverton's,  and  we  got  up 
several    plays.     We  agreed  to  invite  not  only  our  great 


144  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

neighbours,  but  the  farmers,  the  artisans,  and  even 
the  labourers ;  and  I  never  was  present  at  anything 
that  was  more  jovial  in  all  my  life.  That  conveys 
what  I  mean :  seek,  as  far  as  you  can,  to  make 
everybody  within  your  ken  partakers  of  your  pleasures 
and  of  your  hospitality.  You  will  often  be  able  to 
afford  to  do  this,  if  you  avoid  luxurious  entertainment; 
and  hardly  anybody  cares  about  luxury.  Don't  have 
fruits  and  vegetables  out  of  season,  and  therefore 
immensely  dear :  don't  have  refined  dinners,  whatever 
Mauleverer  may  say ;  but  make  your  entertainments 
as  conducive  to  the  happiness  and  enjoyment  of  as 
large  a  number  of  people  as  you  can,  ignoring  to  a 
certain  extent  the  claims  of  rank,  fashion,  or  conformity. 

We  walked  home  together  in  separate 
parties.  I  was  in  the  company  of  Sir 
Arthur  and  Mr.  Mauleverer ;  and  they  both 
owned  that  they  had  never  heard  Sir  John 
talk  more  sensibly  or  more  kindly  than 
he  had  done  on  the  present  occasion  ;  but 
Mr.  Mauleverer  added,  with  that  cynicism 
which  is  never  absent  from  him,  that  Sir  John 
could  not  be  in  his  usual  state  of  health, 
when  he  made  an  essay  and  talked  after  it, 
in  a  manner  so  unlike  his  usual  self. 


CHAPTER  XL 

\"\ /"E  were  all  very  much  amused  with 
Sir  John  Ellesmere's  essay  of  twelve 
sentences  on  Flospitality.  We  planned  to 
have  a  similar  essay  In  the  course  of  our 
next  walk  together,  which  took  place  on  the 
following  day.  Mr.  Milverton-  and  Lady 
Ellesmere  accompanied  us.  Sir  Arthur  thus 
led  up  to  the  subject : — 

Sir  Arthur,  That  was  really  a  very  creditable  essay 
of  yours,  Ellesmere,  which  you  gave  us  yesterday. 

Mauievercr.     The  chief  merit  was  its  brevity. 

Cranmer.  I  should  like  to  suggest  anothei-  subject 
which  I  know  would  please  Mr.  Mauleverer.  What 
should  you  say  to  an  essay  on  Vulgarity  ? 

Maiilrocrcr.  No  :  don't  take  that,  it  would  require 
hundreds  of  sentences  to  deal  with  it  properly ;  and 
hardly  anything  worthy  of  it  could  be  said  in  twelve  sen- 
tences. 


146  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Elhsmae.  One  sentence  is  sufllcient.  I  will  engage 
to  give  you  a  single  sentence  on  tliis  subject;  and  what- 
ever form  of  vulgarity  you  afterwards  put  before  me,  I 
promise  that  it  shall  be  signified,  or  at  least  explained, 
by  this  single  sentence. 

Cranmcr.     This  is  an  amazing  man  ! 

Ellesmcre.  I  suppose  that  the  peripatetic  philosophers, 
when  they  had  anything  very  important  to  say  to  their 
disciples,  paused  in  their  walk  to  do  so. 

We  all  stopped :  then  stood  in  front  of  Sir 
John  as  if  we  were  a  docile  class  of  students, 
waiting  to  drink  in  the  words  of  a  master  of 
sentences.  It  happened  to  be  dinner-time 
for  the  rustic  population.  We  were  close 
to  the  corner  of  a  field  where  a  number  of 
farm-labourers  were  ploughing  for  spring- 
corn  ;  they  peeped  over  the  hedge  at  us, 
but  no  one  saw  them  but  myself.  Ellesmere 
continued  : — 

Ellesmere.  All  vulgarity  s'niiply  results  from  a  want 
of  selfcoiifide7ice.  If  I  were  writing  a  book,  I  should 
put  these  words  into  double  italics,  if  there  are  such 
things.  Now,  then,  tell  me,  as  we  walk  on,  any  form  of 
vulgarity  which  is  not  expressed  and  explained  by  my 
single  pregnant  sentence. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  147 

Sir  Arthur.  Ostentation — whether  of  birth,  wealth, 
rank,  or  abiUty  of  any  kind  ? 

Ellesmere.  This  is  too  easy  to  answer.  Don't  you 
see  that  if  a  man  had  self-confidence,  if  he  even  believed 
thoroughly  in  the  force  and  worth  of  these  social  advant- 
ages, he  would  not  require  to  be  perpetually  putting  them 
forward,  and  making  claims  for  them?  No:  it  is  the 
want  of  self-confidence  which  makes  him  so  vulgar  as  to 
flaunt  these  advantages  before  the  eyes  of  his  fellow-men. 

Matileverer,  Well,  there  is  the  vulgar  vanity  that  is 
always  putting  itself  forward — I  mean  personal  vanity 
of  all  kinds  ;  and  note  this,  I  mean  the  vanity  which  has 
no  good  grounds  to  go  upon ;  and  therein  my  problem 
differs  from  Sir  Arthur's,  for  his  advantages  were  real. 

Ellesmere.  Again,  this  is  too  easy  to  answer.  The 
man  in  question  has  some  merits.  (Nobody  is  without 
merits,  and  without  possible  usefulness.)  But  he  is 
deficient  in  self  confidence  about  his  true  merits — merits 
upon  which  he  could  really  take  his  stand,  and  so  he 
makes  false  and  unreal  claims  for  attention  and  respect. 

Alilverton.  The  boasting  of  grand  acquaintanceships, 
the  endeavour  to  prove  that  one  is  in  a  higher  social 
circle  than  that  in  v.hich  one  really  moves. 

Ellesmere.  My  dear  fellows,  don't  be  so  absurdly  easy 
in  taking  objections  to  my  potent  single  sentence.  If 
that  is  not  an  instance  of  the  want  of  self-confidence,  I 
don't  know  what  is.  The  man  in  question  has  no  sound 
faith  in  the  merits  and  wortl)  o(    the  class  or  station  to 


148  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

M'liich  lie  belongs,  and  so  he  becomes  pretentious,  and 
boasts  of  any  chance  acquaintanceship  wiih  great  pcojilc. 

Johnson.  Fussiness  and  want  of  reticence,  so  that  a 
man  tells  you,  jierhaps  in  a  railway  carriage,  all  about 
himself  and  his  family  and  his  afiairs. 

Ellcsinae.  Our  excellent  Sandy  has  endeavoured  to 
make  a  good  point — and  has  made  a  belter  point  than 
almost  any  of  you ;  but  he  cannot  beat  me,  or  diminish 
the  value  of  my  sentence.  He  artfully  endeavours  to 
drag  me  into  other  regions.  Fussiness  is  not  vulgarity  : 
want  of  reticence  is  not  vulgarity.  Take  the  last 
named  thing.  It  often  results  from  innocence  of  mind 
and  from  aftectionateness.  A  child  will  tell  you  all 
about  itself  and  its  home  goings  on ;  and  a  child  is 
never  vulgar. 

Milvcrton.     Very  good,  Ellesmere. 

Elksmcre.  Yes,  he  says  very  good — when  I  answer 
his  secretary's  objection.  He  did  not  say  so  when  I 
answered  his  own. 

Lady  Ellesmere.  Out.-ageous  dress — not  all  the  colours 
of  the  rainbow,  but  those  colours  which  will  not  har- 
monize together. 

Ellesmere.  Is  not  this  intensely  feminine  !  You  can 
see  how  they  pronounce  against  one  another,  merely 
founding  their  conclusions  on  the  subject  of  dress,  an 
all-important  subject  to  them.  I  do  maintain  that  I  am 
not  a  vulgar  man.  All  other  faults  you  may  impute  to 
me,  but  not  this.     Nevertheless  my  wife  is  often  pleased 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  149 

to  tell  me  that  I  am  vulgar  in  the  article  of  dress,  simply 
because  I  love  bright  colours,  and  do  not  discern  dis- 
cordancy in  colour  where  she  perceives  it.  She  does  not 
know,  poor  woman,  that  this  is  a  question  of  tempera- 
ment. I  will  bet  anything  that  Milverton,  who  has  some- 
what of  a  sombre  mind,  also  delights  in  a  profusion  of 
bright  colours. 

Milverton  nodded  assent,  Ellesmere  con- 
tinued :  — 

Now  have  I  not  answered  my  lady  ? 

Cranmer.  I  don't  wish  to  boast,  but  I  do  not  think 
he  will  be  able  to  answer  me.  There  is  a  vulgarity  of 
mind  which  was  not  included  in  any  of  the  foregoing 
objections.  It  is  not,  as  Sir  Arthur  said,  connected  with 
ostentation  :  it  is  not,  as  Mauleverer  said,  vanity  :  it  has 
nothing  to  do  with  dress,  or  boastfulness  of  any  kind. 

Ellesmere.     This  is  alarming. 

Cranmer.  It  has  no  relation  whatever  to  anything 
that  has  been  said  before.  There  is,  I  say,  a  vulgarity  of 
mind  which  takes  the  vulgar  view  of  everything  presented 
to  it.  I  don't  know  German,  but  I  think  I  understand 
what  the  Germans  mean  wlien  they  say  that  a  man  is  a 
Philister — a  Philistine,  as  we  should  say.  Mr.  Matthew 
Arnold  would,  in  his  eloquent  language,  best  express 
what  I  mean.  I  have  seen  it  in  official  life  ;  I  have  seen 
it  in  ordinary  life.     1  cannot  c^uite  describe  it  to  you,  but 


I50  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

I  am  sure  you  all  know  what  I  am  aiming  at.  It  is,  that 
in  every  affair  with  which  he  has  to  deal,  the  vulgar  man 
takes  the  second-rate  motive,  the  common-place  motive, 
the  one  that  is  sure  to  go  down  with  vulgar  people  such 
as  himself. 

Ellesmerc.  This  is  the  hardest  nut  I  have  had  to  crack. 
I  can  only  answer  it  in  this  way,  that,  as  I  believe, 
Cranmer's  vulgar  man  sees  the  higher  motive,  but  does 
not  believe  in  its  influence  :  has  not  the  self-confidence 
which  would  enable  him  to  appeal  to  that  higher  motive 
in  others,  and  so  becomes  a  Philisterin  spite  of  his  better 
self. 

Milverton.  You  must  own,  Ellesmere,  that  Cranmer 
has  made  a  remark  very  difficult  for  you  to  answer. 

£i/esmere.  I  will  expand,  or  at  least  exjilain,  my 
crucial  sentence.  Vulgarity  proceeds  from  something 
negative,  whereas  most  people  seem  to  think  that  it  pro- 
ceeds from  something  positive.  I  have  been  pleased  to 
perceive  that  no  one  of  you  has  taken  the  point  of  vul- 
garity of  language.  A  man  may  be  deficient  or  redun- 
dant in  his  H's.     This  has  nothing  to  do  with  vulgarity. 

But  to  return  to  my  main  theme.  My  idea  is  not 
original.  I  gained  it  from  Ruskin,  or  from  a  quotation 
which  Milverton  once  made  from  him,  in  which  that 
most  eloquent  writer  said  that  "  vulgarity  was  death," 
or  words  to  that  effect.  That  saying  enlightened  me  at 
once.  I  saw  that  vulgarity  was  deficiency  and  not  super- 
abundance,   though    it    may    take    the    form    of    super- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  151 

abundance.  And  I  believe  that  even  Cianmer's  objec- 
tion, which  is  the  hardest  I  have  had  to  answer,  will, 
when  looked  at  by  the  philosophic  mind,  resolve  itself 
into  deficiency — deficiency  of  hope,  of  faith,  of  sympathy  ; 
and  so  it  will,  in  a  measure,  come  within  the  scope  of 
my  original  sentence,  that  all  vulgarity  results  from  a 
want  of  self-confi  lence — of  confidence  either  in  oric's 
ordinary  self,  or  of  the  higher  aspirations  which  belong 
to  one's  better  self. 


CHAPTER   XII. 

"  I  "HE  "Friends  In  Council"  seemed,  in 
the  last  few  days,  to  have  found  out  a 
new  vein  of  thought,  or  rather  a  new  mode 
of  expressing-  their  thoughts.  These  walks, 
which  used  to  be  rather  avoided  by  some  of 
the  company,  were  now  talked  of  beforehand 
and  even  the  most  indolent  did  not  care  to 
be  absentees.  For  my  part,  I  should  have 
preferred  more  solid,  indoors  talk  ;  but  no- 
body agreed  with  me  in  that  preference. 
The  next  day,  we  went  out  walking  again, 
with  the  intention,  I  could  perceive,  of 
getting  Sir  John  to  enlighten  us  with 
some  brief  essav. 

Sir  Arthur.     I,  for  one,  have  been  greatly  amused  and 
pleased  with  the  short  essays  Ellesmere  has  given  us. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  153 

Ctanmcr.  One  can  hardly  call  a  single  sentence  an 
essay. 

Ellesmere.  Xo  :  would  that  essays  had  often  consisted 
of  single  sentences.  I  am  glad  to  have  pleased  Sir 
Arthur.  Is  there  any  other  subject  he  would  like  to 
hear  treated  with  becoming  brevity?  Like  most  juvenile 
authors,  I  am  impatient  to  display  my  powers  to  the 
world. 

Sir  Arthur.     Calumny ! 

Ellesmere.  A  commonplace  subject.  It  has  been 
treated  over  and  over  again ;  and,  oddly  enough,  best 
treated  in  the  Figaro  of  Beaumarchais.  I  could  give  you 
a  subject  not  really  akin  to  calumny,  but  by  most  people 
supposed  to  be  first  cousin  to  that  vice. 

Crajimcr.      Scandal  ?     Backbiting  ? 

Elltsmere.  No.  The  originality  of  my  subject  con- 
sists in  its  being  common  as  the  air,  and  yet,  as  far 
as  I  know,  never  having  been  taken  as  a  subject  for  an 
essay.  It  is  "  Denigration."  This  is  a  very  different 
thing  from  calumny,  or  slander,  or  backbiting,  or  from 
any  form  of  satire  or  sarcasm. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  think  he  is  right.  Now  for  the 
essay,  Ellesmere,  or  for  the  essaylet,  if  I  may  so  coin 
a  word. 

Ellesmere.  I  cannot  treat  it  quite  so  briefly  as  I  liave 
treated  the  preceding  subjects  which  have  been  en- 
trusted tome;  and  I  must  think  a  little,  before  I  attempt 
to  give  any  discourse  upon  it. 


154  SOCIAL  PRKSSURE. 

Hereupon  Sir  John  EUesnicrc  walked  on 
at  a  rapid  pace  before  us  ;  and  then,  after  a 
few  minutes,  returned  to  us. 

"I  am  ready  now,"  he  said,  "and,  as 
Milverton  is  wont  to  say,  '  I  demand  the 
strictest  attention  from  you  all,'  for  it  is  a 
very  important  subject  which  I  am  about 
to  discuss."  I  will  now  give  his  own 
words. 

Ellesmere.  If  you  are  honest  men  you  will  admit  that 
whatever  anybody  says  against  any  other  body,  has  some 
effect  upon  your  minds.  Suppose  you  know  that  there 
is  mahis  animus  in  the  person  speaking ;  suppose  you 
know  that  the  said  person  has  no  real  cognizance  of  the 
subject,  or  of  the  man,  of  which,  or  of  whom,  that  person 
is  speaking — still,  his  speech  produces  some  effect.  For 
instance :  a  very  young  man  is  talking  of  some  work  in 
science,  art,  or  literature,  which  you  are  well  aware  that 
he  is  utterly  incapable  of  understanding,  and  has,  pro- 
bably, not  read,  or  only  read  partially,  you  are  still,  if 
but  in  some  slight  degree,  affected  by  what  you  are 
pleased  to  dignify  as  an  adverse  opinion.  There  is  a  vile 
gregaripusness  of  thought  and  feeling  which  only  the  very 
greatest  personages  are  able  to  withstand.  Moreover 
(and  here  I  utter  a  truth  which  is  not  far  from  being  one 
of  the  most  significant  truths  in  the  world),  not  one  man 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  155 

in  five  hundred  is  able  to  endure  the  painful  process 
of  keeping  his  judgment  righteously  in  suspense.  The 
smallest  weight  is  often  able  to  depress  the  scale  one 
way  or  the  other. 

Luckily  in  my  essays,  or  "  essaylets,"  as  Sir  Arthur  is 
pleased  to  call  them,  the  author  can  endure  interruption. 
Have  I  exaggerated  the  effect  of  this  gregarlousness 
of  mind  ?  Can  any  of  you  honestly  say  that  you  are  not 
affected  by  hostile  criticism,  however  absurd,  ignorant, 
or  irrelevant  you  know  that  criticism  to  be,  and  however 
much  you  may  despise  the  critic  ? 

You  are  silent.  I  am  glad  to  see  that  you  have 
consciences — active,  energetic  consciences — which  en- 
able you  to  recognize  a  truth  when  it  is  laid  before  you. 

I  proceed  with  my  discourse. 

Well  would  it  be  for  the  world  if  it  were  guided  only 
by  malevolence  in  its  sayings  and  doings.  I  have  a 
large  acquaintance;  but  I  hardly  think  that  there  is 
a  really  malevolent  being  among  them.  This  knocks 
over  (that  is  not  a  phrase  of  your  solemn  essayists) — this 
knocks  over  your  calumny  and  your  backbiting.  They 
are  very  rare  transactions,  but  denigration  is  as  common 
as  folly.  And  why  is  it  so  common  ?  Because  it  is 
so  easy.  To  praise,  with  anything  like  judgment,  is  the 
work  of  an  artist.  To  condemn,  to  vilify,  to  denigrate 
is  within  every  man's  power.  The  village  idiot,  if  you 
observe  his  sayings  (I  really  speak  from  observation), 
generally  blackens  what  he  talks  about.      It  is  always 


156  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

complaint  and  never  praise  that  forms  the  staple  of 
village  idiots'  maundeiings. 

Now  you  must  not  think  that  I  am  talking  after  the 
fashion  of  Mauleverer,  who,  if  he  were  uttering  this 
peripatetic  essay,  would  tell  you  that  the  denigrator  had 
in  view  the  abundant  malice  and  envy  of  mankind,  and 
was  accordingly  talking  with  reference  to  the  applause 
which  would  be  elicited  from  that  prevailing  envy  and 
malice.  Nothing  of  the  kind.  The  denigrator  talks 
only  what  is  easiest  for  him  to  talk.  I  go  down  to  the 
depths  of  human  nature  \  and  I  am  fully  aware  of  that 
fact,  which  most  of  you  philosophers  ignore,  that  man 
is  a  very  indolent  creature. 

Shall  I  proceed? 

Sir  Arthur.     Certainly. 

Ellesmcre.  Well,  then ;  man,  an  ordinary  man,  is  a 
very  unimaginative  creature.  When  he  contemplates  a 
great  work  of  any  kind,  be  it  in  politics,  religion, 
science,  literature,  or  art,  he  approaches  it  with  a 
prosaic  and  unimaginative  mintl.  He  has  no  con- 
ception— how  should  he  ? — of  the  labour  overcome,  of 
the  multitudinous  things  which  the  writer,  or  the 
painter,  or  the  scientific  man  has  set  aside,  in  the 
ultimate  representation  of  what  he  has  had  to  say,  to 
announce,  or  to  portray. 

All  human  society  is  full  of  denigration  from  the 
foregoing  causes  which  I  have  named.  It  is  easy  ;  it  is 
natural ;    it   is   unimaginative ;    moreover,   it    is   easily 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  157 

understood.  It  is  one  of  the  most  mischievous  elements 
in  the  world ;  for  it  appeals  to  two  of  the  most  pregnant 
conditions  in  human  intercourse— namely,  ignorance 
and  want  of  sympathy. 

Sir  Arthur.  What  a  pity  Sir  Jolm  has  given  the 
best  part  of  his  mind  to  his  legal  studies  ! 

EUcsmere.  My  legal  studies,  Sir  Arthur,  have  taught 
me  to  observe  these  things.  I  never  was  more  in 
earnest  than  in  what  I  have  said  to  you  just  now.  You 
and  Milverton  and  Cranmer  are  always  propounding 
something  or  other  which  should  be  of  great  benefit  to 
mankind — something  legal,  political,  sanitary,  or  social 
— but  I  doubt  whether  anything  would  be  of  more 
benefit  to  mankind,  would  give  more  power  to  the  men 
who  are  seeking  to  do  their  best  for  mankind,  than 
putting  a  check  upon  this  habit  and  spirit  of  denigration. 
Every  reformer,  from  Luther  upwards  and  downwards, 
has  had  to  contend  against  it,  as  his  greatest  and  most 
prevailing  enemy. 

And  every  good  man  should  seek  to  assure  himself 
thoroughly  as  to  what  he  is  doing,  when  he  denigrates 
the  efforts  of  any  improver,  reformer,  inventor,  or  even 
would-be  benefactor  of  the  human  race.  Of  course, 
I  might  have  alluded  to  the  common  proverb,  "Throw 
mud — some  of  it  is  sure  to  stick."  The  answer  given 
is  not  satisfactory  to  me:  namely,  "Tliat  it  will  rub 
off  when  it  is  dry."  It  is  at  any  rate  a  long  time  before 
it  dries. 


158  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

There  is  somctliing  I  wish  to  add.  We  are  greatly 
deluded  by  the  use  of  grand  wonls  in  tliis  matter,  such  as 
"  calumny,"  "  scandal,"  and  the  like.  I  have  used  too  fine 
a  word  in  "denigration."  I  should  like  instead,  if  you 
would  endure  it,  to  use  the  word  "  black-washing."  Now 
many  a  man,  who  has  spent  half  his  conversational 
time  in  black-washing,  does  not  feel  that  he  is  in  the 
remotest  degree  touched  by  any  noble  language  you 
may  employ  against  the  grander  vices  of  calumny  and 
scandal-mongering.  Any  blame  of  this  kind  does  not 
come  near  to  him.  He  does  not  dislike  anybody 
enough  to  calumniate  him,  or  to  invent  scandal  against 
him.  He  only  projoagates  these  evil  things  by  carelessly 
and  indifterently  repeating  them.  True,  he  likes  to 
take  off  the  edge  of  a  fine  action  by  showing  that  some 
small  or  mean  motive  might  have  given  rise  to  it.  But 
this  he  considers  to  be  very  harmless  ;  and,  in  short,  he 
black-washes  to  a  great  extent  without  having  any  real 
consciousness  of  what  he  is  doing.  He  furnishes  a 
depressing  kind  of  medicine  that  he  thinks  is  very 
healthful  for  the  world,  which  might  otherwise  be  too 
much  excited  by-  the  contemplation  of  any  good  work 
or  noble  endeavour.  . 

Somehow  or  other  the  eyes  of  several  of 
us  took  the  direction  of  the  place  where  Mr. 
Mauleverer  was  standing.  Sir  John  per- 
ceived this. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  159 

EUcsmcre.  Now  this  is  very  rude  of  you.  They  think, 
Maulcverer,  that  my  lust  sentences  were  aimed  at  you. 
Nothing  of  die  kind.  Mauleverer,  my  friends,  is  a  man 
who  has  a  great  deal  of  spare  darkness  in  his  soul: 
and  he  possesses  some  of  that  power  whicli  a  great  poet 
has  assigned  to  a  certain  personage — 

"And  where  he  gazed,  a  gloom  pervaded  space." 

So,  without  in  any  way  wishing  to  liken  Mauleverer  to 
that  personage,  we  may  still  say  that  he  has  a  power 
of  throwing  some  of  his  darkness  in  whatever  direction 
he  is  pleased  to  throw  it ;  but  he  does  not  black-wash 
other  people.  He  only  casts  a  dark  colour  upon  the 
human  race  in  general,  and  does  not  condescend  to 
vilify  any  individual,  except  perhaps  an  enthusiast  or  a 
philanthropist. 

Now,  Mauleverer,  if  you  have  any  spare  cash  about 
you,  I  think  I  know  of  somebody  who  deserves  to 
receive  it  as  a  fee  for  the  defence  of  your  calumniated 
character. 

Mauleverer.  I  am  quite  indifferent  to  tlie  supposed 
attack,  and  not  peculiarly  grateful  for  the  defence. 
There  is  no  knowing  how  far  your  enthusiasms  (I  do  not 
accuse  you  though,  Ellesmere,  of  enthusiasm)  would 
carry  you  if  it  were  not  for  my  counteracting  influence. 
Not  that  I  play  a  part  of  counteraction  ;  but  I  sincerely 
think  that  Milverton  and  Sir  Arthur,  who  are  the 
greatest  sinners  in   this  line,  often    jjut  forward  impos- 


i6o  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

sibililies  of  liope  and  endeavour.  I  shall  be  very 
glad  if  it  shall  ever  be  proved  that  I  am  in  the 
wrong. 

Milvcrton.  I  cannot  let  Mauleverer  off  so  easily  as 
you  do,  Ellesmere — just  because  you  wish  to  have  him 
on  your  side  at  the  present  moment.  When  he  abuses 
us  poor  men  collectively,  I  do  not  see  how  we,  as 
individuals,  escape  his  censure.  I  do  not  see  how 
any  of  us  remain  white  when  he  "  black-washes,"  to  use 
your  word,  the  whole  human  race.  I  never  hear  him 
make  exceptions.  You  would  think,  to  hear  his 
diatribes,  that  we  were  all  reptiles.  His  talk  is  so 
unmeasured,  and,  for  the  most  part,  turns  upon  so  few 
particulars. 

Maulrocrcr.  Don't  provoke  me  to  say  all  that  I  could 
say,  of  man. 

Ellesmere.  You  cannot  disconcert  us.  I,  for  one, 
am  thoroughly  aware  that  he  is  not  a  perfect  creature ; 
but,  upon  the  whole,  by  no  means  so  despicable  a 
creature  as  you  would  make  him  out  to  be.  But  say 
on.     Tell  us  what  you  are  pleased  to  think  of  man. 

Maula'crcr.  Contemptible  in  his  appetites,  grovelling 
in  his  pursuits,  absurd  in  his  pleasures,  most  comical 
when  meaning  to  be  most  serious;  imitative  as  an  ape, 
shameless  as  a  dog ;  and  as  fond  of  following  a  crowd 
as  the  silliest  of  sheep  ;  the  serf  to  success,  the  slave 
of  fashion ;  a  creature  who  trades  upon  the  few  epidemic 
ideai,  of  his  age,  which  he  in  his  conceit  supposes  to 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  i6i 

be  his  own.  In  religion,  for  the  most  part,  a  super- 
stitious idolater,  or  one  who  scarcely  seems  to  think 
there  is  such  a  thing  as  Divine  Government ;  hardly  con- 
sistent for  any  single  hour  of  his  dreary  life  :  but  not 
on  all  these  accounts  unfitted  for  abiding  in  a  planet 
wherein  the  most  significant  transactions  are  disease, 
devouring,  decadence,  and  death. 

Eikstnere.  It  is  a  very  pretty  description  of  man, 
I  take  exception  to  one  phrase  only,  "  shameless  as  a 
dog."  I  wish,  that  in  fairness  you-  had  only  shown 
how  like  to  a  dog  he  is,  when  he  is  at  his  best — how 
friendly,  how  affectionate,  how  forgiving. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  why  that  abusive  bit  about  the 
dog  was  put  in.  It  was  to  make  the  third  section  of 
a  sentence,  or  of  a  paragraph — the  third  section  of  that 
sentence  or  paragraph  wherein  the  ape  and  the  sheep 
were  spoken  of.  The  love  of  mankind  for  the  number 
three  has  been  a  fatal  thing  for  them.  It  would  be 
hard  to  recount  how  many  false  and  injurious  statements 
have  entered  into  speech  and  writing,  by  reason  of  this 
love  for  a  third  section  of  a  sentence.  I  should  have 
fulfilled  my  mission  in  life  (each  one  of  us  I  hope  has 
a  mission),  if  I  could  persuade  the  world  that  truth  is 
chiefly  violated  by  this  insertion  of  the  third  section. 
Of  course.  Sir  Arthur  would  say  that  it  is  necessary 
for  the  sake  of  euphony.  Euphony,  tlicn,  is  the  mother 
of  many  lies. 

Milvcrion.  You  can  lower  anybody  or  anything 
M 


1 62  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

by  tliis  exnggcrating  process  of  Maulcvercr.  For  my 
part,  as  I  liave  intimated  to  you  before,  my  wonder 
is  perpetual  that  mankind  has  made  so  good  a  thing 
of  the  very  hard  and  trying  circumstances  around 
him  ;  and  the  result  of  my  experience  is,  astonishment  that 
the  selfishness  of  individual  being  has  so  little  corrupted 
the  primal  elements  of  goodness  which  were  inserted 
in  man.  Ludicrous  as  it  may  appear  to  you,  Mauleverer, 
I  would  almost  rest  my  defence  of  man  upon  the  fact 
that  in  the  theatre  the  most  commonplace  maxim  of 
morality,  the  least  approach  to  generosity  of  sentiment, 
is  welcomed  by  the  galleries  with  a  shout  of  applause 
which  shows  that  the  hearts,  even  of  the  least  edu- 
cated of  mankind,  respond  with  fervour  to  anything  that 
is  great  or  good,  however  familiar,  which  is  put  before 
them. 

Maiilrcerer.  I  can't  admit  that  to  be  an  able  defence 
of  human  nature — that  it  is  always  ready  to  indulge  in 
the  cheap  virtue  of  applauding  clap-trap. 

Milverton.  Perliaps  I  can  do  something  better.  Let 
us  take  five  or  six  of  the  men  who  are  best  known 
to  the  world.  Now  they  shall  not  be  saints  or  martyrs ; 
or  men  especially  renowned  for  goodness  of  any  kind. 
I  will  choose  them  only  from  the  fact  that  they  happen 
to  be  well  known  to  us — not  their  lives  particularly,  but 
themselves.  A  man's  life  often  tells  very  little  about  the 
innermost  nature  of  himself.  It  is  a  web  into  which  so 
many  extraneous  threads  are  woven. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  163 

The  men  I  will  choose  are  Horace,  Dante,  Montaigne, 
Pepys,  Dr.  Johnson,  and  Rousseau. 

Ellesmcre.  A  queer  collection.  How  they  would 
have  quarrelled  ! 

Milvcrton.  I  don't  know  about  that.  All  I  contend 
for  is,  that  there  is  much  to  admire  and  like  in  each 
of  these  men,  however  great  their  faults  may  have  been. 
Do  Mauleverer's  words  apply  to  them  :  "  Grovelling  in 
their  pursuits,  idiotic  in  their  pleasures,  the  serfs  of 
success,  the  sport  of  nature,  atheists  or  bigots,"  I  forget 
his  precise  words. 

Sir  Arthur.     Pepys  ? 

Elksmere.  The  best  chosen  of  all.  Now,  there  is  a 
book  I  have  read — his  diary — over  and  over  again. 
I  give  Milverton  great  credit  for  choosing  him.  He 
does  not  pretend  to  be  a  mass  of  virtue ;  but,  after  all, 
how  much  good  and  worth  there  is  in  the  fellow. 
I  look  upon  that  diary  of  his  as  the  truest  book  ever 
written.  Even  when  he  condescends  to  conformity, 
you  can  see  that  he  does  not  take  in  himself,  or  wish 
to  take  in  any  reader,  if  that  diary  was  ever  intended 
to  be  read.  One  day  he  goes  in  a  barge  wiih  the 
king  and  the  Duke  of  York.  "Good  Lord!"  he  says, 
"what  poor  stuff  they  did  talk."  Then  recollecting 
that,  as  an  official  man,  he  must  not,  even  to  himself, 
run  down  his  official  superiors,  he  adds,  "  But,  God 
be  praised,  they  arc  both  of  them  princes  of  marvellous 
nobleness  and  spirit."     1  won't  swear  io  the  exactness 


1 64  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

of  the  words,  but  I  am  sure  I  give  you  a  just  idea  of 
the  passage. 

There  are  only  two  others  of  Milverton's  heroes, 
of  whom  I  know  anything — Horace  and  Dr.  Johnson  ; 
and  of  them  I  must  say  that  Milverton  is  right.  They 
both  tend  to  give  us  a  favourable  view  of  human 
nature. 

Milva-ton.  I  confess,  with  all  my  admiration  for 
Dr.  Johnson,  that  he  has  one  of  the  greatest  faults  which, 
to  my  mind,  can  beset  a  man.  He  seems  to  contra- 
dict for  contradiction's  sake.  Now,  what  one  desires  to 
know,  in  one's  converse  with  other  men,  is  what  they 
really  think,  not  what  they  will  say  for  the  sake  of 
provoking  argument. 

EUcsuiere.     I  don't  see  that  that  is  such  a  great  fault. 

Milverton.  [Rather  dryly.]  I  did  not  expect  that 
yott  would.  But  have  I  not  proved,  or  rather  illustrated, 
my  argument — namely,  that  the  men  you  know  best, 
into  whose  characters,  from  some  reason  or  other,  you 
have  gained  a  particular  insight,  are  by  no  means  the  con- 
temptible creatures  that  Mauleverer  would  make  them 
out  to  be  ?  Of  course  one  ought  not  to  answer  his 
diatribes  seriously;  but  sometimes  one  is  provoked  into 
doing  so.  I  can  hardly  believe  that  he  himself  believes 
in  what  he  says. 

Afaulez'erer.     I  do. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  do  not  think,  Milverton,  that  you 
were  particularly  fortunate  in  naming  Rousseau. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,  165 

Milverton.  I  thought  it  but  fair  to  name  him,  when 
I  was  looking  out,  which  was  my  fust  thouglit,  for 
those  men  of  whom  we  know  a  great  deal.  I  took  care 
not  to  name  any  man  of  our  own  time,  because  that 
might  have  given  rise  to  ill-natured  sayings. 

Well  now,  about  Rousseau,  Some  of  Maulevcrer's 
sayings  would  hit  him  hard.  He  was  a  morbid  creature, 
but  penetrated  with  a  desire  for  the  improvement  of 
mankind  in  his  own  way ;  and  in  that  respect  he  was  by 
no  means  an  ignoble  person. 

You  must  admit  that  I  was  judicious  in  not  fighting 
the  battle  on  the  merits  of  men  acknowledged  to 
have  done  some  signal  service  to  the  world — of  your 
Clarksons,  Howards,  Wilberforces,  St.  Francises,  Bor- 
romeos,  and  the  like.  For  the  most  part,  I  took  what 
are  called  men  of  the  v»^orld.  Horace,  Montaigne,  and 
Pepys  are  really  representative  men  of  their  class.  Sir 
Arthur,  do  say  something  for  Montaigne.  You,  of  course, 
know  all  about  him. 

Sir  Arthur.  One  of  the  best  fellows  in  the  world. 
How  I  should  have  liked  to  have  had  him  here  with 
us  ! — a  very  Christian  man,  without  being  at  all  aware, 
himself,  of  that  fact. '  I  wish  he  had  not  been  quite 
so  coarse  ;  but  if  he  had  lived  in  our  day  he  would 
not  have  been  a  coarse  man  at  all.  He  would  have 
been  as  fine  a  gentleman  as  the  late  Sydney  Herbert, 
the  finest  gentleman  I  ever  knew. 

Mauleverer.     I  do  not  mind  having  every  one  against 


1 66  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

me.  I  am  used  to  tliat.  I  sliall  only  make  one  remark 
in  answer  to  the  puffing  up  of  mankind  wluch  you  all 
indulge  in. 

EUcsmcre.  It's  the  first  time  I  have  ever  been  called 
a  pufferup  of  mankind.  Oh  !  don't  apologise,  I  willingly 
accept  the  character.  I  always  puff  up  Milverton  to  a 
large  extent. 

Matilevcrcr.  My  remark  is  simply  this — that  if  j'ou 
think  that  these  men  in  their  autobiographies,  their 
diaries,  or  their  other  writings,  give  a  true  representation 
of  themselves,  you  are  much  mistaken.  Nobody  dares 
to  represent  himself  as  he  truly  is.  You  may  shout 
"  oh !  oh  ! "  as  much  as  you  like ;  but  it  is  so.  Your 
Scriptures  are  with  me.  The  men,  inspired  or  otherwise, 
who  have  written  most  truly  of  their  fellow-men,  know 
that  the  heart  of  man  is  desperately  wicked.  You 
cannot  bear  to  hear  the  truth,  any  of  you. 

Nobody  cared  to  reply  to  Mr.  Mauleverer ; 
and  somehow  or  other,  as  so  often  happens, 
the  man  who  takes  the  darkest  views  of 
human  life  is  not  easily  to  be  defeated. 
As  Mr.  ]\Iilverton  said  afterwards,  "  He 
disheartens,  if  he  cannot  conquer  :  he  de- 
presses, if  he  cannot  prevail." 

Our   conversation    subsequently   diverged 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  167 

into  various  channels;  and,  amongst  other 
things,  Mr.  Milverton's  previous  essay  was 
alluded  to  in  the  following  manner. 

Cranmcr.  I  wish  Milverton  Avould  not  speak  so 
vehemently  as  he  does  against  Pohtical  Economy. 

Ellcsiiure.  It  is  very  inconsistent  of  him.  He  worried 
my  life  out,  when  we  were  young  men,  urging  me  to 
read  Adam  Smith,  and  James  Mill,  and  Ricardo,  and  a 
host  of  other  political  economists. 

Sir  Artliur.  You  do  not  understand  him,  and 
pei'.aps  he  does  not  quite  understand  himself.  It  is 
against  the  false  application,  or  rather  the  unlimited 
application,  of  the  maxims  of  political  economy,  that  he 
means  to  fulminate. 

Ellesmcre.  Yes  :  there  is  Avhere  it  is,  and  that  kind 
of  error  is  perpetual.  There  is  no  maxim  that  can 
be  applied  without  many  modifications.  Cranmer  inti- 
mated to  me,  the  other  day,  that  I  did  not  know  much 
about  science.  Well  ;  he  is  not  far  wrong.  I  took  a 
tolerable  degree,  but  have  never  had  time  to  keep 
up  with  the  scientific  labours  and  discoveries  of  our 
day. 

Sir  Arthur  was  sliowing  me  yesterday,  and  translating 
for  me,  a  beautiful  passage  of  the  great  Humboldt's, 
in  which  that  wonderful  man  says  that,  in  the  time 
of  our  youth  or  boyhood,  the  account  of  some  place 


1 68  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

strikes  out  imagination  very  forcibly,  perhaps  quite 
unreasonably,  and  we  are  ever  afterwards  pining  to  see 
this  place. 

A  similar  thing  occurs  in  all  the  studies  of  the 
young.  I  read  all  the  mathematics  of  my  day,  but 
it  was  one  single  trivial  thing  that  happened  to  make 
the  greatest  impression  upon  me ;  and  it  thoroughly 
applies  to  the  present  subject.  It  relates  to  the 
inclined  plane.  There  was  the  mathematical  formula 
which  gave  the  result  of  a  weight  descending  this 
inclined  plane.  But  then  it  was  a  mathematical 
inclined  plane — not  the  inclined  plane  of  actual  life. 
With  regard  to  the  descent  on  that  plane,  friction  had 
to  be  taken  into  account.  That  fact  made  an  indelible 
impression  upon  my  mind ;  and  ever  afterwards  I  have 
endeavoured  to  allow  for  "  friction  "  in  all  human  affairs. 
This  is  the  main  safeguard  against  pedantry ;  and  it 
includes  all  that  Milverton  means,  when  he  is  attacking 
political  economists. 

Men  Avill  buy  in  the  cheapest  market.  No,  they  won't ; 
.  at  least  not  for  a  long  time. 

Men  are  always  guided  by  self-interest.  No,  they  are 
not ;  for  any  given  man  is  a  mass  of  whims,  humours, 
and  prejudices,  which  intercept  and  even  conquer  the 
force  of  self-interest. 

jNIan  is  a  reasonable  animal,  and,  of  course,  submits 
willingly  to  be  bound  by  a  chain  of  correct  and  severe 
reasoning.     No,  he  does  not ;  for,  in  that  case,  he  would 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  169 

always  agree  with  me,  and  I  do  not  find  that  he  does 
ahvays  agree  with  me. 

Put  whatever  maxim  you-  choose  before  me,  I  will 
prove  to  you  that  it  only  applies  when  large  modifications 
are  added  to  it,  when  friction  is  taken  into  account. 

We  took  Sir  John  at  his  word,  and  tried 
him  with  all  manner  of  general  maxims  and 
proverbs  ;  but  he  certainly  was  victorious  in 
showing-  that,  in  every  case,  large  modifica- 
tions and  many  exceptions  had  to  be  made. 

Mr.  Cranmer  is  the  only  one  of  us  who,  in 
our  conversations,  is  a  persistent  enemy  to 
Sir  John  Ellesmere.  "  Well  then,"  said  Mr. 
Cranmer,  "  that  single  sentence  which  you 
gave  us,  as  expressing  and  explaining  all 
vulgarity,  was  not,  after  all,  a  general  truth." 
Sir  John  is  not  easily  disconcerted,  but  he 
seemed  to  be  so  for  a  moment.  "  At  any 
rate,"  he  replied,  "not  one  of  you  could 
bring  forward  the  exceptions  and  modifica- 
tions that  were  necessary." 

We  were  close  at  home  when  this  was 
said,  and  there  was  no  further  conversation 
worth  recording. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

"\^7'HEN  in  our  first  walk  we  were  talking 
over  subjects  for  essays,  it  was  Mr. 
Mauleverer  who  proposed  "  Over- Publicity  " 
as  one  of  them.  He  was  now  asked  to  write 
an  essay  on  that  theme  ;  but  he  declined 
to  do  so,  saying  "he  had  no  idea  that 
authorship  was  such  hard  work  ;  and  that, 
what  with  his  letter  to  the  American,  which, 
however,  had  satisfactorily  proved  the  exact 
equivalence  of  human  folly  at  all  periods  of 
the  world's  history,  and  what  with  his  essay 
on  "  Intrusiveness,"  which  had  proved  that 
all  men,  even  the  greatest,  would  descend  to 
a  level  of  uniform  stupidity,  he  thought  he 
had  done  enough  to  enlighten  and  amuse 
the  company. 

Without  recounting  the  conversation  which 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  171 

ensued,  it  is  enough  to  say  that  it  was 
mainly  devoted,  by  the  other  friends,  to 
showing  Mr.  Mauleverer  that  he  had  chiefly 
confined  his  essay  to  proving  how  intrusive- 
ness  affected  great  men  ;  and,  therefore,  that 
it  was  an  evil  which  did  not  much  concern 
the  world  in  general. 

Finally,  Sir  Arthur  undertook  to  write  the 
essay  on  "Over-Publicity;"  and  the  day 
came  when  he  was  to  read  this  essay. 

I  wish  that  somebody  besides  myself  could 
have  seen  the  expression  of  mingled  bewil- 
derment, sarcasm,  and  impatience,  on  the 
face  of  Sir  John  Ellesmere  (who  was  sitting 
behind  Sir  Arthur),  during  the  beginning  of 
Sir  Arthur's  essay.  Sir  John  has  a  great 
respect  for  Sir  Arthur,  the  respect  of  a  com- 
paratively unlearned  man  for  a  learned  one  ; 
and,  therefore,  does  not  venture  to  interrupt 
him  as  he  would  any  of  the  others. 

Sir  Arthur  reads  with  a  sonorous  voice ; 
and,  when  he  quotes  a  bit  of  Latin,  it  is  with 
a  certain  unctuous  enjoyment  of  the  text, 
which  I  have  noticed  in  other  scholais.     I 


17-'  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

often  ^wish  that  I  was  a  great  scholar  myself, 
for  they  seem  to  enjoy  their  Latin  and  Greek 
amazingly.  Now  my  chief,  Mr.  Milverton, 
takes  all  things  which  serve  his  purpose  with 
equal  satisfaction  ;  and  he  is  just  as  emphatic 
with  a  quotation  from  a  dull  blue-book  as 
from  a  Greek  tragedy. 

Sir  Arthur  read  as  follows  :  — 


OVER-PUBLICITY. 

*'  The  great  Pan  Is  dead."  No  legend 
with  more  depth  of  meaning  and  more 
conciseness  of  expression,  ever  pervaded 
the  world  than  that  which  told  of  this  an- 
nouncement to  mankind,  that  the  great  Pan 
was  dead.  Our  Saviour  was  expiring  upon 
the  cross  ;  and  over  all  lands  and  all  seas 
the  dread  but  holy  and  joyful  fact  was 
being  announced,  that  the  power  of  Pan  had 
ceased,  and  that  the  great  Pan  himself  was 
dead.  No  more  dubious  oracles ;  no  more 
jubilant  dancing  and  singing  of  nymphs,  and 
fauns,  and  satyrs,  headed  by  the  great  Pan 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  173 

himself,  and  making  all  the  woods  and 
groves  resonant  with  somewhat  uproarious 
melody.  No  more  Curetes ;  no  more 
Corybantes,  who  should  drown  the  expression 
of  grief,  sorrow,  and  pain,  by  their  odious 
din,  beating  with  clubs  upon  brazen  shields, 
or  upon  empty  helmets. 

"  Pars  clypeos  sudibus,  g.ileas  pars  tundit  inanes  : 
Hoc  Curetes  habent,  hoc  Corybantes  opus." 

But  I  say  that  the  great  Pan  has  come  to 
life  again,  for  he  is  to  be  regarded  as  the 
god,  still  enamoured  of  the  nymph  Echo, 
who  will  not  allow  of  silence,  nor  of  solitude, 
even  in  the  most  solitary  of  woods  and 
groves.  Neither  are'  the  Curetes,  nor  the 
Corybantes,  extinct  existences.  They  still 
make  their  wild  clamour  to  drown  all  that  is 
most  tender  and  most  touching  In  the  pro- 
ceedings of  mankind.  Nay,  to  speak  the 
truth,  the  great  Pan,  the  Curetes,  and  the 
Corybantes,  have  more  power  in  the  world 
than  ever  ;  and  they  may  well  be  called  the 
divinities  and   the  high  priests  of  pubHcity. 


174  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Alas  !  we  can  no  longer  say  as  that  true  poet 
VVieland  says  in  his  "  Oberon  :  " — 

''  (i's?  ill  <?o  i?ti([e  Ijtcr,  aXi  fei  tcr  c^rc^c  i'an 
3c(>  glaii^c,  tajj  man  gar  ten  3JJaiihiMirf  ©i^arven  ^ovte." 

Nothing  now  is  sacred.  Sorrow,  disease, 
misfortune — all  are  canvassed  with  minute- 
ness before  the  eyes  of  an  unwholesomely 
curious  world ;  greedy  of  novelties,  delight- 
ing in  sensation  ;  and  no.  real  or  imaginative 
detail  is  spared,  for  the  public  dearly  loves 
details. 

One  writes  to  one,  or  speaks  to  one,  or 
whispers  to  one ;  and  the  writing,  or  the 
speech,  or  the  whisper  is  not  meant  for  the 
whole  world,  arid  should  never  be  given  to 
the  whole  world.  But,  alas !  in  modern 
times  there  seems  to  be  always  a  chorus 
present ;  and  so  the  writing  of  one  to  one, 
or  the  speaking  of  one  to  one,  or  the 
whispering  of  one  to  one,  tends  no  longer  to 
have  something  peculiar  or  confidential  in  it, 
but  is  treated  as  if  it  were  originally  meant 
to  be  announced  to  the  whole  universe. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  175 

Some  persons  have  thought  that  the  Greek 
chorus  is  rather  an  impertinence ;  but  this, 
at  least,  might  be  said  for  it,  that  it  mostly 
consisted  of  citizens  who  were  deeply  inte- 
rested in  the  fates  and  fortunes  of  the 
different  actors  on  the  stage.  Whereas,  in 
modern  times,  the  chorus  consists,  for  the 
most  part,  of  persons  who  are  very  remotely 
interested  in  the  proceedings  of  the  principal 
actors — a  chorus  of  curiosity  rather  than  of 
sympathy. 

I  should  wish  to  show  you  how,  in  the  best 
of  times,  and  among  the  best  of  people,  most 
of  their  writing,  or  their  speech,  or  their 
whispers,  were  intended  only  for  those  to 
whom  they  addressed  themselves ;  and  how 
it  has  now  become  a  painful  fact  that  no  one 
can  address  another  with  any  security  that 
what  he  says,  or  writes,  or  even  whispers, 
shall  not  be  made  the  property  of  the 
universal  world. 

It  is  a  pleasant  and  instructive,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  to  my  knowledge,  a  true  story, 
that  a  thorough  coxcomb  was  wont  to  say  of 


176  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

two  of  the  most  clistinL^'uishcd  men  of  this 
g-eneration,  that,  "  for  his  part,  whenever  he 
met  them,  they  seemed  to  talk  uncommon 
nonsense" — the  truth  being-,  that  these  two 
great  men  accommodated  their  talk  to  the 
person  they  were  talking  with,  not  re^^arding- 
him  as  one  of  a  chorus  ;  but  the  smaller  man 
talks  always  to  the  chorus,  knowing,  full 
well,  that  whatever  he  says,  may  attain  a 
publicity  for  which  he  wishes  to  be  prepared. 

\\'e  must  always  be  glad  that  Shakespeare 
did  not  live  in  these  times  of  relentless 
publicity.  We  might  have  known  a  great 
deal  too  much  about  him,  and  his  super- 
eminent  greatness  might  have  been  much 
detracted  from,  at  least  in  the  opinion  of 
ordinary  persons. 

There  are  two  great  evils  which  inevitably 
arise  from  the  present  state  of  things.  There 
is  the  fear  of  publicity,  and  there  is  the  love 
of  publicity.  As  regards  the  former,  how 
many  timid  and  shame-faced  persons  fear 
to  take  the  right  course,  fear  to  take  the 
course   which    would    lead    to    just    results, 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  177 

because  of  the  aversion  which  they  have  to 
this  demon  of  publicity  ? 

On  the  other  hand,  a  still  greater  danger 
lurks  in  the  love  of  publicity,  which  comes 
to  be  a  besetting  sin,  sometimes  even  of  the 
greatest  minds,  and  which  leads  to  falseness, 
restlessness,  and  to  a  most  dangerous  desire 
always  to  stand  well  with  that  public  which 
is  sure,  very  soon,  to  be  made  acquainted 
with  all  that  the  lover  of  publicity  may  say, 
or  speak,  or  intend. 

Publicity  is  also  a  gre3.t  absorber  of  that 
time  which  might  be  much  better  spent.  The 
desire  for  knowing  everything  about  every- 
body— what  he  or  she  thinks,  or  says,  or  does, 
on  any  trivial  occasion — occupies  now  a  large 
part  of  the  time  of  the  civilized  world  ;  and 
must  be  a  great  hindrance  to  steady  thought 
about  a  man's  own  concerns,  and  about  those 
subjects  which  ought  most  deeply  to  interest 
mankind.  A  stupid  kind  of  gossip  becomes 
the  most  pleasant  and  the  most  absorbing 
topic  for  the  generality  of  men.  •  I  do  not 
agree  with    a    certain    friend    of   mine,  who 

N 


178  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

has  told  us  that  "the  folly  of  mankind  is  a 
constant  quantity;"  but  I  do  admit  that 
this  fulsome  publicity  I  have  described,  is  one 
of  the  facts  which  speaks  most  in  fcivour  of 
the  view  he  has  been  taking-.  , 

If  publicity  could  be  perfect,  there  would 
be  less  to  be  said  in  its  disparagement.  If 
every  one  wore  his  heart  upon  his  sleeve,  we 
should  at  least  get  rid  of  all  falseness,  and 
the  world  would  know  with  whom  and  with 
what  it  was  dealing-.  But  a  studied  publicity 
is  very  dangerous.  When  all  people  know 
that  what  they  may  say,  or  do,  is  likely  to 
be  made  public,  they  will  dress  up  thei'r 
sayings,  or  their  doings,  to  meet  this  appal- 
ling- publicity.  And  that  which  they  deem 
will  not  be  pleasing  to  the  public,  though  it 
may  be  the  thing,  of  all  others,  which  the 
public  ought  to  hear,  they  will  carefully 
suppress. 

A  studied  and  arranged  publicity  is  the 
nearest  friend  to  insincerity. 

A  man  Vho  feels  that  he  has  any  peculiar 
worth  or  force  in  himself,  should  set  his  mind 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  179 

strongly  against  this  publicity,  for  It  Is  very 
ruinous  to  him.  He  is  not  so  very  different 
from  other  men  ;  but,  perhaps,  he  has  some 
insight,  or  some  capability,  which  is  not 
given  to  them.  Whatever  power  he  natu- 
rally possesses,  is  Injured,  or  depreciated,  by 
the  extreme  publicity  which,  In  these  days, 
attends  all  his  sayings  and  doings.  A  great 
man  talks  his  own  nonsense  at  his  own 
home :  when  told  to  the  world  It  tends 
greatly  to  lower  his  Influence  in  those  matters 
in  which  he  ought  to  have  influence.  Fami- 
liarity is  the  great  leveller,  and  a  most  unjust 
leveller.  It  was,  indeed,  a  divine  saying, 
that  a  prophet  Is  not  without  honour,  but  in 
his  own  countr}',  and  amongst  his  own  kin, 
and  in  his  own  house.  Extreme  publicity 
makes  the  whole  nation  the  familiar  home  of 
any  great  or  original  jjerson.  The  speci- 
alities of  great  men  arc  thus  partially  nega- 
tived. 

I  conclude  this  essay  by  saying  that  this 
extreme  publicity  Is  a  snare  and  a  temptation 
for   the  great ;   that  it  tends  to  destroy  the 


iSo  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

just  privacy  of  private  life  ;  that  it  furnishes 
a  worthless  occupation  for  mankind  in  gene- 
ral ;  and  that  it  is  unwholesome,  tedious, 
detractive,  indelicate,  and  indecorous. 

Ellesmere.  Is  there  not  a  little  inconsistency  here  ? 
You  say  that  this  extreme  publicity  is  everything  that 
is  odious  and  abominable  :  and  then  you  say,  "  cany 
it  farther,  make  it  perfect,  and  it  is  excellent." 

MUvcrton.  No,  no,  no,  Ellesmere.  He  says  this 
extreme  publicity,  as  to  what  a  man  says,  or  does,  or 
intends,  is  odious  and  mischievous.  But  not  as  io  7uhat 
he  tliinks.  Sir  Arthur's  main  point,  so  far  as  I  understood 
him,  was  that  this  publicity  concealed  thought,  or  at  least 
deformed  or  misrepresented  it.  If  I  may  use  the  expres- 
sion, Sir  Arthur's  original  and  thoughtful  man  is  made, 
by  this  publicity,  to  think  at  the  public,  woifor  them. 

]\Iy  objection  to  the  essay  is,  that  I  did  not  hear 
of  a  single  instance  in  which  publicity  might  be  useful. 
Now,  surely,  it  can  render  us  enormous  service. 
I  maintain  that  it  is  a  good  thing,  occasionally,  to 
bring  the  knowledge  of  horrors  home  to  the  world. 
In  former  days,  for  example,  quiet,  home- staying  people 
knew  very  little  of  the  horrors  of  war.  In  other  things, 
too,  there  was  great  ignorance  of  what  ouglit  to  have 
been  known.  We  had  to  rely  upon  some  one  man, 
such  as  a  Howard,  to  tell  us  of  the  horrors  of  prison 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  i8i 

life.  We  had  to  rely  upon  some  few  men,  your  Claik- 
sons  and  Wilberforces,  to  tell  us  of  the  horrors  of  slavery 
and  the  slave-trade.  Imagine  the  present  state  of 
publicity  to  have  existed  a  hundred  years  ago.  Large 
reforms  in  many  matters  would  have  been  initiated 
much  sooner.  It  never  will  do  to  suppose  that  any 
great  phase  of  human  affairs  is  altogether  injurious. 
Sir  Arthur  naturally  pictures  to  himself  how  much  he, 
and  other  men  like  himself,  are  vexed  and  annoyed  by 
this  publicity.  But  I  must  recall  to  him  the  advantages 
which  attend  it. 

Ellesincre.  Oh !  it  is  the  usual  story.  There  was 
tlie  fault  to  which  almost  every  proverb,  every  essay, 
every  treatise  (except  those  on  medicine),  every  book 
(not  excepting  those  on  theology),  is  liable,  namely,  that 
when  it  attacks  anything,  it  is  the  abuse  and  not  the  use 
which  it  attacks.  There  is  nothing  perfect  in  this  life 
in  the  way  of  argument  but  a  well-argued  law  case, 
heard  before  the  judges  in  banco,  or  the  Judicial 
Committee  of  the  Privy  Council,  or  the  House  of  Lords. 
Yes,  you  may  all  laugh,  but  it  is  so.  How  often  have 
I  wished,  when  listening  to  a  really  good  discussion 
upon  some  deep  subject,  that  it  could  be  put  in  the 
shape  of  a  law  case,  and  argued  accordingly. 

Cranmer.  But  there  is  the  House  of  Commons, 
EUesmere.  There  are  surely  two  sides  there — two  bodies 
of  opposing  advocates. 

EUesmere.     Yes;   but   no  judges.     However,    I   don\ 


1 82  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

want  to  cavil  at  Sir  Arthur's  essay.  There  was  a  great 
deal  of  it,  with  whicli  I  entirely  agreed.  I  did  not  see 
much  use  in  bringing  in  the  great  god  Pan  and  the 
Corybantes ;  but  ever)  body  must  tell  his  story,  and 
make  his  essay,  in  his  own  way.  And,  perliaps,  we 
should  not  have  had  the  essay  at  all,  if  Sir  Arthur  had 
not  at  once  seen  how  a  classical  quotation  might  be 
delicately  brought  in. 

What  I  did  like,  was  where  he  said  so  much  about 
*'  one  writing,  or  speaking,  to  one,  and  to  no  other." 
We  certainly  do  destroy  that  one-to-oneness  by  what 
he  called,  "  a  relentless  publicity."  I  thought  of 
Hotspur  and  the  coxcomb  who  came  up  to  him  after 
the  battle.  How  differently  he  would  have  talked  to 
a  man  of  war,  had  such  a  one  accosted  him  !  I  feel 
that  I  talk  different  talk  to  each  one  of  you,  when  I 
am  alone  with  each  one.  I  am  obliged  to  be  very 
solemn,  if  Milverton  deigns  to  accompany  me  for  hall 
a  mile.  For  Sir  Arthur,  I  rub  up  my  classics,  and 
talk  of  Apuleius,  as  if  he  were  a  friend  of  mine,  though 
I  only  know  him  by  name.  For  Cranmer,  I  pretend 
to  have  read  a  blue-book,  or  at  least  indicate  a  respect 
for  blue-books.  When  I  am  alone  v.-ith  Mauleverer, 
there  is  a  soup  which  I  once  tasted  at  Lord  G.'s  that  I 
always  contrive  to  bring  upon  the  tapis.  And,  in  fact, 
though  not  a  very  false  man,  I  am  obliged  to  accom- 
modate myself  to  my  company. 

Milverton.     I  remember  a  signal   instance  in  which 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  183 

this  writing  of  one  to  one  was  fearfully  misconstrued. 
I  dare  say  I  have  told  it  you  before.  A  great  wit  and 
author,  of  the  preceding  generation,  wrote  a  letter  to  a 
certain  statesman  with  whom  he  was  very  intimate;  and 
the  two  men  were  full  of  their  jokes  to  one  another.  In 
this  letter  the  author  made  a  most  rascally  proposition. 
I  am  certain,  from  having  known  something  of  both 
these  men  when  I  was  young,  and  known  how  full  they 
were  of  their  fun,  that  this  proposition  had  reference  to 
some  old  joke  of  theirs ;  and,  in  fact,  to  use  a  word 
common  no'w-a-days,  the  author  was  chaffing  the 
statesman.  But  it  was  all  taken  by  the  world  as  real 
earnest,  and  it  did  the  memory  of  the  great  author 
some  damage. 

Maiilcva-cr.  I  approved  a  little  of  the  latter  part 
of  the  essay,  where  Sir  Arthur  spoke  about  familiarity. 

Lady  EUesmcre.  I  do  not  know  whether  a  hero 
remains  a  hero  to  his  valet,  but  I  suspect  he  often  does, 
with  all  his  failings,  to  his  wife. 

]\lrs.  Miltcrfoii.     Not  so  very  often,  my  dear. 

Alilva'ton.  Carlyle's  shrewd  answer  that  "  the  hero 
is  not  a  hero  to  his  valet,  because  the  valet  is  a  valet, 
and  not  because  the  hero  is  not  a  hero,"  does  not 
exhaust  that  question.  To  far  other  persons  besides  the 
valet  by  reason  of  his  valetism,  does  the  hero  often 
cease  to  be  a  hero.  This  is  a  matter  well  worth-  con- 
sidering. Sir  Arthur  indicated  the  cause,  but  1  thought 
he  did   not  work  it  out.     Heroism,  or  greatness  of  any 


1 84  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

kind,  gener;illy  depends  upon  what  we  might  call  an 
exaggeration,  or  certainly  an  extreme,  in  some  high 
or  noble  quality.  The  bystander  will  insist  upon  there 
being  a  co-ordinate  greatness  throughout  the  character  ; 
but,  of  course,  in,  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred 
there  is  nothing  of  the  kind.  The  hero  has  most  of  the 
ordinary  weaknesses  of  his  fellow-men.  The  close-seeing 
bystander  is  horribly  disappointed  at  finding  such  to 
be  the  case,  and  gradually  commits  the  enormous  error 
of  detracting  somewhat  from  the  merit  of  the  hero's 
real  greatness  in  that  quality  in  which  he  is  great.  It  all 
arises  from  that  stupid  idea  of  expecting  perfection,  or  at 
any  rate,  proportionate  merit :  whereas,  by  the  nature  of 
the  case,  there  is  disproportion. 

Ellesmere.  Very  well  brought  out.  You  shall  be  the 
counsel  for  the  hero.  With  me  on  the  other  side,  and 
a  good  judge  to  hear  us  both,  the  verdict  would  be  truth 
itself. 

Sir  Ar-thur.  There  is  one  form  that  publicity  takes 
which  is  particularly  odious  to  me.  It  is  the  publication 
of  all  the  details  of  courtship  and  of  love  in  "  Breach  of 
Promise  of  Marriage  "  cases. 

Ellesmere.  You  little  know,  Sir  Arthur,  what  a 
dangerous  topic  you  have  touched  upon.  It  is  one  of 
Milverton's  many  manias  to  regard  all  such  cases  as 
an  abomination. 

Milverton.  There  ought  to  be  no  such  cases.  It  is 
perfectly  monstrous  that  any  person  should  be  compelled 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  185 

to  marry  by  any  such  pecuniary  considerations.  If  any 
thing  in  the  world  should  be  a  matter  of  complete  assent 
on  both  sides,  it  is  marriage ;  and  even,  at  the  last 
moment,  if  there  is  any  reluctance  on  either  side,  the 
project  should  fall  to  the  ground. 

EUcsmere.     I  like  that  word  "project." 

Maulrccrcr.  The  present  state  of  the  law  presumes, 
just  as  if  it  were  a  writer  of  second  rate  novels,  that 
marriage  must  be  felicitous.  The  annals  of  the  world  do 
not  quite  bear  this  out. 

Milverton.  No  ;  but  look  what  a  degrading  thing  it  is 
for  any  man,  or  woman,  to  ask  for  compensation  in 
regard  to  a  matter  in  which  the  affections  alone  ought  to 
be  concerned. 

If  I  were  a  lawyer  on  the  defendant's  side,  I  should 
contend  that  we  are  the  people  who  ought  to  have  the 
money,  for  we  have  probably  prevented  a  most  infelici- 
tous marriage,  and  something  is  due  to  us  for  this  great 
service  to  the  other  side.  They  were  well  rid  of  us,  and 
might  well  show  their  gratitude  in  a  substantial  manner. 

Ellesmcre.  Oddly  enough,  in  the  few  breach  of 
promise  cases  in  which  I  have  been  concerned,  I  have 
always  been  on  the  plaintiff's  side,  otherwise  I  certainly 
had  intended  to  take  the  Milvcrtonian  view  of  the 
question. 

Milierton.  Oh  !  it  is  rank,  it  is  sordid,  it  is 
abominable,  to  seek  fur  money  compensation  in  such 
matters.     It  savours  of  the  most  barbarous  times,  w'..t.n 


1 86  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

everything  could  be  paid  for,  from  the  putting  out  of  an 
ey-:  up  to  murder.  If  Mauleverer  had  given  tliis  breach 
of  promise  business  as  an  instance  of  tlie  continuous 
folly  of  mankind,  I  should  have  been  so  far  with  him. 
I  do  not  know  for  certain  how  the  matter  stands  as 
regards  other  nations ;  but  I  rather  think  that  we  are  the 
only  people,  pretending  to  be  civilized,  who  retain  this 
low-minded,  barbarous  practice. 

EUcsmerc.  It  is  a  great  delight  to  me  when  ISIilverton 
comes  forward  in  his  real  character  as  a  downright 
domineering  kind  of  man,  intolerant  in  speech  as  in 
thought.  It  is  quite  a  relief  to  get  rid  of  that  affectation 
of  supreme  fairness,  of  "  nothing  is  as  bad  as  it  looks,'' 
and  "  there  are  two  sides  to  every  question,"  and 
"  please  to  have  the  goodness  to  look  at  the  other 
side,"  with  which  l.e  mostly  favours  us. 

Milverton.  I  have  taken  no  notice  of  Ellesmere's 
injurious  sayings  ;  but,  in  order  to  have  a  noble  and  a 
just  revenge,  I  propose  to  give  you  an  essay  on  the 
subject  of  Ridicule,  and,  chiefly,  on  that  low  form  of 
it  called  *'  chaffing,"  in  which  it  must  be  admitted 
our  friend  here  is  an  adept. 

Ellesmere.  I  have  no  objection.  An  essayist  only 
shows,  for  the  most  part,  how  one-sided  a  view  he  has 
taken  of  the  question  upon  which  he  proposes  to  deliver 
a  judgment. 

Sir  A?'//ii/r.  I  dare  say  I  have  been  very  one-sidea 
in  this  essay  of  mine  about  Publicity.    I  do  not  intend  to 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  187 

defend  it  against  all  comers.  I  merely  put  down  my  own 
poor  thoughts,  and  left  the  discussion  to  the  rest  of  you. 

One  quotation  in  support  of  my  views  I  shall  give  to 
you.  It  is  not  a  classical  quotation,  EUesmere.  I  was 
very  tired  last  night  after  inditing  this  essay,  and  so  full 
of  it,  that  I  thought  I  should  not  go  to  sleep  without 
reading  something  which  would  take  me  away  from  the 
course  of  thought  I  had  been  indulging  in.  I  agree 
with  IMauleverer,  that  autliorship  is  a  very  difficult  thing. 
A  practised  writer,  such  as  Miherton,  has  no  conception 
of  the  difficulty  it  is  for  us  who  are  not  practised. 

EUesmere.  Yes  :  upon  every  earthly  or  heavenly 
subject,  Milverton  has  his  ideas  neatly  arranged  for 
production  at  any  given  moment. 

One  of  our  committee  at  the  club  took  me  down  the 
other  day  into  the  club  kitchen.  It  is  a  surprising  place. 
There  are  boxes  of  mutton  chops ;  there  are  drawers 
full  of  delicate  cutlets  ready  for  cooking ;  and.  in 
short,  everything  was  in  the  highest  state  of  neat 
preparation.  That  is  like  Milverton's  mind.  Boxes 
full  of  arguments  for  his  side  of  the  question  ;  drawers 
full  of  metaphors  to  illustrate  those  arguments ;  and,  in 
a  snug  corner  of  his  roomy  mind,  a  neat  little  repository 
of  sophisms.  Wliercas,  nothing  is  prepared  with  me. 
You  come  in  for  a  family  dinner.  You  have  a  nice  cut 
of  wholesome  leg  of  mutton — sometimes  a  little  over- 
done, sometimes  a  little  under-done,  but  a  genuine 
thing — none  of  your  made  dishes  and  kickshjws. 


1 88  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Lady  Ellcsmcre.  A  more  vulgar  simile  I  never  hearci, 
John. 

Ellcsmcre.  Homely,  my  dear,  very  homely ;  but  not 
vulgar. 

Sir  Arthur.  When  Ellesmere  mterrupted  me  with  his 
kitchen  simile,  I  was  going  to  tell  you  what  happened 
to  me  last  night.  Now,  have  you  not  observed,  that 
vidien  one  has  any  subject  in  one's  mind,  everything  one 
hears  or  sees  seems  to  bear  upon  it  ?  Passengers  in  a 
railway-carriage  appear  to  have  chosen  it  as  their 
especial  theme.     The  very  cabmen  talk  to  you  about  it. 

Last  night  I  meant  to  have  got  away  from  my 
subject,  and  I  asked  Milverton  to  give  me  a  book  to 
divert  me.  He  gave  me  a  novel  of  Ludwig  Tieck's. 
I  am  sure  he  did  it  without  any  malice  prepense,  but  it 
all  related  to  my  subject;  and,  instead  of  soothing  me, 
it  spoilt  my  night's  rest.  The  witty  Ludwig  might  have 
written  my  essay  for  me.  Here  is  one  of  the  most 
crucial  passages.     I  will  first  read  it  to  you  in  German. 

Ellesmere.     Please  don't. 

Sir  Arthur.     Yes,  I  must. 

"  2l([c3,  ivvig  linger  Seteit  6*on  tnad}cn  foKjlJcviitjt  auf  cinet 
©ifpuimc!,  ba^  iric  bie  UebliAe  S)ammmini3,  scrmcijc  luclc^cr  alle3 
©cU  ia  [auficv  Sjefiicbiijuu^  (^cfcwcfct,  uicf;t  ju  grell  evlcuc^teu." 

Now  I  will  give  you  the  translation  : — "  All  that  tends 
to  beautify  our  life,  rests  upon  our  forbearing  to  illumi- 
nate with  too  bright  a  glare   the  lovely  twilight,  under 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  1S9 

the  influence  of  which  all  that  is  noble  floats  around  us 
in  soft  contentment." 

It  is  a  diflicult  passage  to  translate,  for  there  happen 
to  be  one  or  two  w'ords  in  it  for  which  you  can  hardly 
find  any  corresponding  words  in  English — such  as 
SSefricbiijung,  and  Sdiivctcn;  but,  even  with  my  poor 
translation,  you  may  perceive  what  a  depth  of  truth- 
fulness there  is  in  the  passage,  and  how  it  applies  to 
love,  to  friendship,  and  the  admiration  for  greatness. 
You  also  cannot  fail  to  see  that  an  immature  and 
relentless  publicity  brings  into  the  soft  twilight  that 
hard  and  garish  light  that  may  prove  fatal  to  our  just 
admiration  of  all  that  is  really  admirable. 

Sir  Arthur  rose,  as  if  to  deprecate  any 
further  remarks  upon  his  essay,  and  we 
followed  him  into  the  garden,  where  the 
conversation  took  quite  another  turn,  namely, 
as  regards  the  relative  merits  of  the  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  crews.  Ellesmere,  who 
always  takes  what  appears  likely  to  be  the 
losing  side,  maintaining  that  his  men,  the 
Oxford  crew,  were,  after  all,  the  best  men, 
considering  the  disadvantages  under  which 
they  laboured.  He  was  ready  to  bet  upon 
them  to  any  amount. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

"  I  "HIS  morning  we  met  to  hear  Mr.  Mil- 
verton's  essay  on  Ridicule.  Before  he 
began  to  read  it,  Sir  John  had  taken  up  his 
place  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  in  an  attitude 
of  ostentatious  humility. 

Milverton.     Pray  come  nearer  to  the  table,  EUesmere. 

Ellesinere.  No  :  this  essay  is  meant  as  a  punishment 
for  me,  and  I  am  ready  to  receive  the  punishment  with 
proper  humiHty. 

Milverton.  Nonsense  :  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  you. 
I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  are  not  a  Uttle  too  fond 
of  ridicule  to  please  my  taste  ;  but  then  your  choice  of 
attack  is  never  a  mean  one.  Your  victims,  or  rather 
intended  victims,  are  chiefly  your  wife,  Cranmer, 
Mauleverer,  and  my  unfortunate  self.  With  the  ex- 
ception of  your  contests  with  the  last-named  person, 
you  seldom  come  off  so  victoriously  as  to  have  anything 
to  boast  of;  and,  as  for  myself,  I  am  so  used  to  being 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  191 

attacked  by  you,  that  I  have  become  callous,  and  take 
but  little  heed  ol  all  your  ridicule. 

Ellesina-e.  How  much  more  wicked  a  thing  contempt 
is  than  ridicule  !  What  says  Wordsworth  ? — an  author 
I  know  by  heart — at  least,  I  wish  I  did : — 

"  that  he  who  feels  contempt 
For  any  Hving  thing,  hatli  faculties 
Which  he  lias  never  used ;  that  thought  with  him 
Is  in  its  infancy." 

But  begin  :  I  shall  not  come  out  of  the  corner  until  1 
have  heard  the  essay,  which,  say  what  you  like,  is, 
I  know,  made  for  me  a,nd  against  me. 

Milverton.  ]\Iy  dear  lellow,  it  would  be  a  most 
inhuman,  as  well  as  a  most  unpolite  thing,  to  read  an 
essay  against  a  man  in  his  own  house.  The  laws  of 
hospitality,  which  apply  to  guests  as  well  as  to  hosts, 
forbid  any  such  proceeding. 

Mr.  Milverton  then  read  the  following 
essay : — 

RIDICULE. 

There  are  various  ways  and  forms  in  which 
men  dispense  their  criticism  of  others.  There 
is  advice,  satire,  sarcasm,  scorn,  mockery, 
ridicule,    and    chaff.     The   last-named    is   a 


192  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

modern  word ;  but  the  thing  itself  is  not 
modern,  though  it  has  greatly  increased,  and 
oeen  greatly  developed  in  modern  times. 

It  has  been  said  that  if  three  persons  were 
left  on  a  desert  island,  two  of  them  would 
contrive  to  make  a  slave  of  the  third.  I  do 
not  know  how  this  may  be  ;  but  it  is  pretty 
nearly  certain  that  two  of  them  would 
combine  to  ridicule  the  third,  and  would 
indulge  largely  in  that  peculiar  form  of 
ridicule,  called  chaff. 

This  subject  may  seem  a  small  and  insig- 
nificant one ;  but  it  is  neither  small  nor  in 
significant,  if  the  amount  of  human  happiness 
which  is  at  stake  be  duly  considered.  It  is 
very  noticeable  that,  in  any  assemblages  of 
men,  a  large  element  of  what  may  be  called 
teazing  is  sure  to  arise  ;  and  the  worst  of 
this  teazing  is,  that  it  is  seldom  equally  dis- 
tributed ;  but  certain  persons  in  the  assem- 
blage are  almost  invariably  chosen  as  per- 
manent victims. 

The  young  suffer  from  it  very  much.  In 
fact,  it  often  adds  greatly  to  the  discomfort 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  193 

of  their  lives.  They  do,  or  say,  something 
which  is  odd,  or  unconventional,  or  misap- 
propriate, or  they  meet  with  some  ludicrous 
accident,  or  misadventure,  which  costs  them 
agonies  at  the  time,  and  which  they  wish  to 
forget,  and  very  much  desire  that  others  also 
would  forget.  But  this  is  not  allowed ;  and 
a  system  (one  can  hardly  use  any  lesser 
word)  is  set  up  of  chaffing,  which  has  for  its 
basis  this  unlucky  accident,  or  misadventure, 
or  misappropriate  speech. 

Probably  nothing  more  ungenerous  can  be 
imagined,  than  this  mode  of  proceeding  on 
the  part  of  the  majority.  But  it  is  not  by 
showing  its  want  of  generosity  that  it  will  be 
lessened,  or  its  effects  upon  the  victim  dimi- 
nished. 

There  are,  however,  considerations  which 
may  tend  to  lessen  its  frequency,  and  to 
diminish  its  effect. 

In  the  first  place,  it  is  to  be  observed  that 
improvement  is  not  aimed  at ;  and,  indeed, 
seldom  or  ever  enters  at  all  as  a  motive  into 
the  minds  of  the  tormentors  of  the  victim. 

o 


194  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

This  can  hardly  be  said  of  any  other  form  of 
dispensing  criticism.  A  satirist,  for  instance, 
has  generally  some  idea  of  improving  man- 
kind by  his  satire.  Of  course  the  advice- 
giver,  really  and  sincerely,  often  has  the  same 
motive.  And  certainly  no  other  form  of 
criticism  is  so  entirely  devoid  of  good  inten- 
tion as  this  chaffing. 

Then,  again,  it  is  peculiarly  hard,  cruel, 
and  offensive,  by  reason  of  its  evoking  no 
deep  feeling  in  the  breast  of  those  who 
indulge  in  it.  There  is  no  reaction.  The 
scornful  man  is,  for  the  most  part,  as  excited 
by  his  scorn,  as  are  the  victims  of  that  scorn. 
The  satirist,  if  he  has  any  real  gift  for  satire, 
feels  deeply,  and  shows  that  he  feels,  the 
vexation  with  the  things  or  persons  that 
evoke  his  satire.  The  sava  indignatio  of  Swift 
lacerated  himself  more,  perhaps,  than  it  did 
any  of  his  victims. 

Now  there  Is  some  comfort  in  this  counter 
agitation ;  but  the  light  kind  of  ridicule, 
which  forms  our  present  subject,  reserves  all 
its  pain   for  those  who  are  its  victims,  and 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  195 

has  not  any  to  spare  for  those  who  make  use 
of  it. 

Now  comes  a  consideration  of  the  thing- 
itself,  which  may  serve  as  a  means  of  limit- 
ing its  frequency  and  lessening-  its  effect. 

Its  sole  power,  at  any  rate  its  chief  power, 
consists  in  repetition.  It  requires  no  wit. 
It  requires  no  novelty.  The  dullest  person 
in  the  world  has  only  to  reiterate,  and  he 
becomes  an  adept  in  this  art  of  annoyance. 
In  fact,  the  more  stupid  and  unimag-inative 
he  is,  the  more  sure  he  becomes  of  holding- 
a  distinguished  place  as  a  tormentor  of  this 
kind 

You  cannot  by  the  utmost  stretch  of  fancy 
imagine  any  great  man  rivalling  a  stupid 
person  in  this  peculiar  species  of  tormenting-. 
Indeed,  you  cannot  imagine  a  g-reat  man 
adopting  it  at  all.  Let  us  mention  the  names 
of  great  men,  and  see  whether  you  can  picture 
them,  even  in  your  wildest  fancies,  as  practis- 
ing-, still  less  as  excelling  in,  this  horrible  art. 
Shakespeare,  Ben  Jonson,  Milton,  Burke,  Sir 
Walter  Scott,  Dr.  Johnson — who  can  fancy 


196  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

any  of  these  men  condescending  to  this  form 
of  ridicule  ?  And  still  less  who  can  imag-ine 
their  showing  such  a  want  of  generosity  as 
to  make  one  man  the  especial  victim  of  it. 
Dr.  Johnson  might  be  ever  so  rude ;  but  his 
rudeness  did  not  take  this  inferior  form,  and 
was  addressed  equally  to  all,  without  any 
regard  of  persons. 

This  short  essay  might  not  have  been 
written,  but  for  a  scene  of  which  the  writer 
was  lately  witness  in  the  streets  of  London. 
He  was  walking  behind  two  boys.  The  elder 
of  them  was  a  great,  coarse,  uncouth  lad, 
about  the  age  of  sixteen,  with  a  very  brutal 
countenance.  The  other  was  a  delicate 
boy,  with  a  very  sweet  countenance,  about 
the  agfe  of  thirteen.  He  had  either  suffered 
from  some  serious  injury  or  some  severe 
disease,  which  had  left  a  frightful  mark,  not 
perfectly  healed,  upon  the  left  side  of  his 
cheek.  To  this  unpleasant  fact  the  elder 
boy  was  constantly  referring  in  terms  so 
coarse  and  horrid,  that  I  cannot  repeat  them. 
H.e  would  withdraw  a  little  from  his  com- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  197 

panlon,  point  at  him,  and  repeat  in  loud 
tones,  with  hideous  laughter,  the  injurious 
words. 

What  the  younger  felt  might  be  inferred 
by  the  red  colour  which  rose  round  the 
scarred  cheek.  But  he  walked  on  in  silence, 
bearing  all  those  insults,  if  so  it  may  be 
said,  manfully.  The  expression,  however,  of 
the  boy's  face,  and  even  a  certain  tremulous- 
ness  in  his  walk,  betrayed  the  suffering  that 
he  endured  and  the  indignation  that  he 
felt. 

Except  when  seeing  a  dumb  animal  suffer- 
ing under  some  man's  brutal  treatment,  I 
never  longed  so  much  to  knock  anybody 
down,  as  I  did  that  elder  boy ;  but  I  re- 
strained myself.  I  was  convinced  that  they 
were  either  near  relations,  or  from  some- 
thing) which  they  both  carried,  I  concluded 
that  they  were  servants  of  the  same  master. 
If,  therefore,  I  interfered,  might  it  not  be 
worse  for  the  younger  boy,  as  this  was 
evidently  not  a  chance  meeting,  and  they 
were    probably  daily  companions?     Still  I 


1 98  -SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

followed  them,  dubious  as  to  whether  I 
should  ultimately  interfere. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  the  elder  one,  the 
ruffian,  cease  from  his  vile  taunts,  repeating 
them  exactly  in  the  same  words. 

The  road  had  luckily  been  mended  close 
to  the  spot  where  the  lads  were  walking. 
For  once  in  my  life  I  rejoiced  that  the 
inhuman  practice  of  mending  roads  with 
sharp  bits  of  granite,  and  not  rolling  them 
afterwards,  had  prevailed  in  this  vicinity. 
The  younger  lad,  who  had  now  been  told 
about  twenty  or  thirty  times,  in  the  coarsest 
language,  that  he  was  hideous  and  loathsome, 
caught  up  one  of  these  sharp  pieces  of  granite, 
faced  his  companion,  and  threw  it  at  him. 

I  agree  with  Charles  Lamb,  that  a  bully  is 
not  always  a  coward.  In  this  instance,  how- 
ever, the  bully  was  a  coward.  The  younger 
lad,  having  now  given  way  to  his  fury, 
caught  up  more  of  these  sharp  stones, 
pursued  his  tormentor ;  and  the  end  of  it 
was,  to  my  great  delight,  a  complete  victory 
over  the  young  ruffian. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  199 

Now  here  is  a  striking  instance  of  this 
species  of  ridicule,  this  thing  they  call  by  the 
vulgar  name  "chaff,"  carried  to  its  utter- 
most. Something  in  the  way  of  misfortune 
happens.  All  reasonable  or  kindly  persons 
never  even  think  of  alluding  to  it ;  but  a 
low-minded  creature,  whose  only  idea  of  wit 
or  jocosity  is  to  give  others  pain,  and  to 
make  himself  exquisitely  disagreeable,  is  able 
by  constant  and  inane  repetition,  to  cause 
pain  and  to  evoke  resentment. 

It  is  very  well  for  those  who  indulge  in  this, 
the  most  abject  form  of  ridicule,  to  say  that 
they  should  never  have  behaved  like  this 
elder  boy.  According  to  their  rank  of  life 
they  behave  just  as  badly.  They  love  to 
make  a  butt  of  some  harmless  person 
who,  however,  must  maintain  his  compo- 
sure, and  is  seldom  able  to  pick  up  sharp 
stones  in  the  road  and  hurl  them  at  his 
tormentors. 

The  cause  of  torment  may  be  much  less 
coarse  and  obvious  :  the  constrained  suffer- 
ing may  not  be  one  whit  the  less  tlian  that 


200  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

which  this  poor  boy  endured  till  he  could 
bear  it  no  longer. 

For  my  part,  I  see  no  difference  in  the  ill- 
nature  which,  however  different  In  form  and 
expression,  is  in  spirit  and  in  substance  the 
same. 

This  writer  is  not  at  all  of  the  mind  of  Sir 
Oliver  Roundhead,  who  never  laughed  him- 
self, and  never  permitted  any  of  his  family 
to  laugh.  On  the  contrary,  I  think  that  some 
of  the  chief  things  that  make  life  palatable, 
is  the  fun,  the  wit,  the  drollery,  that  pervade 
it.  But  then  there  must  be  no  touch  of 
malice ;  there  must  be  nothing  which  gives 
any  human  being  real  pain.  If  there  Is 
anything  of  this  kind,  I  fail  to  see  the  fun, 
or  the  drollery,  or  the  wit.  Even  if  it  is 
there,  It  is  absorbed,  to  my  mind,  and 
rendered  negative,  by  the  fact  ^that  a 
human  being  Is  suffering  under  it.  Look  at 
the  delicate  wit  and  humour  of  those  who 
have  been  the  greatest  humourists  in  the 
world.  Consider  the  writings  of  Montaigne 
and   Charles   Lamb.      There   is  nothing   in 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  20 r 

them  to  give  any  human  being  pain,  and  yet 
they  are  convulsively  amusing.  If  anybody 
is  treated  severely  by  these  authors,  it  is  their 
own  selves. 

Montaigne,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  says 
somewhere,  "  there  are  as  many  absurd 
things  to  be  told  about  me  as  about  any 
man  alive;"  and  no  doubt  that  exquisite 
humourist  enjoyed  to  a  certain  extent  his 
own  absurdities.  So  of  Charles  Lamb  : 
in  all  his  "  whimsies  "  and  comicalities 
you  see  in  the  background  his  own  droll 
figure.  But  recollect  that  few  men  are 
humourists  of  this  exalted  kind,  who  can 
enjoy  the  anomalies  and  absurdities  in  which 
they  themselves  come  forward  as  the  promi- 
nent actors. 

The  majority  of  men  have  an  exceeding 
dislike  to  appearing  ridiculous,  never  having 
appreciated  ihe  full  comedy  of  life,  and 
that  it  must  either  be  treated  as  comedy  or 
tragedy,  or,  perhaps,  as  a  nice  admixture 
of  both. 

To   bring    the   foregoing   remarks    home 


202  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

to  our  present  subject,  when  any  of  those 
ludicrous  little  mishaps  occur  which  are 
described  in  witty  works  of  fiction,  or  in 
comic  periodicals,  how  painful  they  are  to 
the  principal  actor  in  the  scene,  and  how 
little  he  likes  to  hear  of  them  again.  When 
a  young  man  enters  a  ball-room  with  his 
trousers  tucked  up  ;  when  a  grave,  wise 
man,  like  Pickwick,  enters  the  wrong  bed- 
room ;  when,  as  I  once  saw  myself,  a 
middle-aged  lady  comes  down  to  break- 
fast having  some  stray  locks  still  in  the 
confinement  of  curl-papers,  these  unfortu- 
nate people  by  no  means  like  to  be  reminded 
of  their  misadventures.  There  is  really 
no  fun,  only  cruelty,  in  reminding  them 
of  their  heedlessness  ;  and,  indeed,  it  be- 
comes a  kind  of  torture,  if  this  is  repeated 
ad  nauseam. 

That  great  artist,  Dickens,  took  care 
that  none  of  Mr.  Pick\Vick's  companions, 
owi'ng  him  respect,  should  venture  to 
allude  '  to  that  deplorable  and  shocking 
incident  in  good  Mr.  Pickwick's  adventures. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  203 

And  this  present  writer  would  not  dare  to 
allude  to  the  misfortune  of  that  respeciable 
middle-ag-ed  lady  who,  in  absence  of  mind, 
had  forgotten  to  release  some  of  her  locks 
from  their  nightly  imprisonment,  if  she  had 
not  long  ago  passed  awav  from  this  trouble- 
some world. 

As,  however,  I  have  before  intimated, 
it  is  the  young  who  most  feel  having 
on  any  occasion  made  themselves  absurd 
or  ridiculous.  The  middle  -  aged  man, 
unless  he  is  a  most  fortunate  individual, 
has  gone  through  so  much  trouble,  that 
these  minor  misfortunes  of  his  youth  are 
food  for  laughter  for  him  as  well  as  other 
people.  Not  always,  though.  A  man  in 
"the  sere  and  yellow  leaf"  of  life,  has 
confessed  to  me  that  he  feels  hot  all  over, 
and  knows  that  the  colour  is  mounting  to 
his  face,  when  he  remembers  some  of  the 
most  ludicrous  adventures  of  a  trivial  kind 
in  his  early  life.  The  sensiti\'e,  alas !  are 
always  sensitive;  and  even  old  age  fails  to 
harden  them 


204  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

It  is  an  old  and  hackneyed  quotation,  out 
there  is  a  fearful  amount  of  truth  in  it, 
which  sa3^s  : — 

"  Of  all  the  ills  the  human  race  endure, 
How  small  a  part  that  laws  or  kings  can  cause  or  cure." 

"J'jiis  is  a  very  melancholy  reflection  if 
you  come  to  take  in  all  the  force  of  it. 
The  wisest  and  the  best  of  men  mi,2:ht 
come  into  the  fullest  power  in  a  State ;  but 
all  that  they  could  do,  except  perhaps  in 
sanitary  legislation,  tends  comparatively 
little  to  lighten  the  real  burdens  of  man- 
kind. It  is  in  purely  social  matters,  in 
matters  concerning-  the  daily  intercourse  of 
life,  that  any  great  improvement  of  man's 
happiness  is  to  be  looked  for.  And  that 
happiness  will  be  most  surely  promoted 
by  each  individual  compelling  himself,  or 
herself,  to  think  how  much  everything  he 
or  she  does  conduces  to  make,  or  mar,  the 
happiness  of  those  who  are  nearest  to  them. 
That  happiness  may  be  greatly  interfered 
with  by  an  indulgence  in  the  habit,  here 
sought  to    be   checked,   of    making    fun  by 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  205 

means  of  mere  brutal  repetition  of  anything 
which,  in  the  first  instance,  was  painful  to 
a  fellow-creature. 


E'lesmere.  The  essay  has  raised  in  my  mind  a 
profound  question — Has  any  man  ever  been  punished 
hah'  so  much  for  saying,  throughout  his  hfe,  the  thing 
that  is  not,  as  for  saying  the  thing  that  is  ?  There  is  a 
subject  for  an  essay  for  you  ! 

k%  usual,  this  essay  is  a  lop-sided  thing. 

Sir  Arthur.  Yes,  Milverton,  though  thoroughly 
approving  of  most  of  what  you  have  said,  I  must  own 
that  you  have  not  given  us  the  other  side  of  the  question. 
One  would  think,  to  hear  you,  that  that  great  solvent  of 
folly,  ridicule,  was  never  to  be  applied.  And,  as  regards 
the  particular  form  of  ridicule,  described  by  that  some- 
what vulgar  word  "  chaffing,"  you  have  not  given  us 
any  of  its  merits. 

Cramner.     I  fail  to  see  any  good  whatever  in  it. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  do  not  fail.  Now,  for  instance,  when 
it  is  applied  by  an  older  and  wiser  man  to  younger 
persons,  it  is  often  meant  to  be  very  kind ;  and  what  is 
more,  it  is  meant  to  be  a  substitute  for  the  exercise  of 
mere  dictatorial  authority.  To  bring  the  cxami)lc  nearer 
home,  a  father  of  a  family  notices  some  folly  prevalent 
among  the  younger  branches  of  the  family.  15eing  a 
kind-hearted  man,  he  does  not  like  to  say,  "  Kon't  do 


2U0  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

this,"  "  Don't  do  that,"  wliich  imperious  orders  he  knows 
may  suppress  the  folly,  but  will  not  eradicate  it.  Con- 
sequently he  makes  a  little  fun  of  the  affiir;  perhaps 
reiterates  the  fun ;  and  IMilverton  is  a  deadly  enemy  to 
this  reiteration,  which,  however,  may  be  necessary  to 
produce  the  desired  effect. 

ATaiileverer.  That  would  be  a  great  deal  better  than 
irony,  a  mode  of  ridicule  I  detest.  It  always  seems 
to  me  a  peculiarly  ungenerous  mode ;  and  I  have 
observed  that  it  very  rarely  gains  its  purpose. 

Alilverton.  I  see  you  are  all  against  me ;  but  now, 
would  it  not  be  better  that  there  should  be  grave  and 
serious  talk,  even  if  it  amounts  to  reprehension,  rather 
than  this  somewhat  undignified  mode  of  chaffing? 

Ellesmere.  No,  it  would  not.  Almost,  by  the 
hypothesis,  it  is  assumed  that  the  subject-matter  is  not 
a  serious  one,  and  therefore  does  not  require  all  this 
dignified  seriousness  in  dealing  with  it. 

But  let  us  remove  the  matter  from  the  home.  There 
are  a  set  of  people  living  much  together.  One  or  more 
of  them  entertains,  or  entertain,  what  the  others  think 
to  be  absurd  or  exaggerated  notions  about  something. 
They  are  equals,  mind  you.  Your  grave  advice  and 
dignified  seriousness  would  be  thought,  and  would  be, 
somewhat  of  an  impertinence  as  addressed  by  any  one 
member  to  any  other  of  the  small  community.  But  ridi- 
cule, especially  if  it  takes  the  shape  of  fun,  may  be  much 
more  safely  administered.      Now,  to  be  very  personal, 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  207 

I  have  often  really  objected  to  the  views  of  our  present 
essayist  upon  various  economical  and  social  subjects. 
I  think,  to  speak  very  candidly,  that  his  enthusiasm 
has  sometimes  led  him  a  little  astray — that  he  has  under- 
rated difficulties;  that  he  has  exaggerated  the  power 
of  his  proposed  remedies ;  and,  in  short,  that  all  that  he 
has  said  is  by  no  means  to  be  taken  for  gospel. 

I  own  that  I  have  not  had  the  same  knowledge  that 
he  has,  of  the  subjects  in  question;  but  I  can  perceive 
defects  and  redundancies  in  his  way  of  treating-  them. 
Is  it  not  better  that  I  should  put  forward  my  views 
somewhat  jokingly,  somewhat  mockingly,  if  you  like  to 
call  it  so,  rather  than  that  I  should  ride  the  high  horse, 
as  it  were,  and  take  him  seriously  to  task,  as  if  I  were 
the  master  of  the  situation  ?  I  am  speaking  very 
seriously  now. 

Milverton.  -Yes ;  this  is  all  very  well ;  but  it  really 
does  not  apply  to  what  I  have  said  in  the  essay.  The 
idea  of  persecution  ran  through  it,  or  was  meant  to  run 
through  it;  and,  for  once  that  this  form  of  ridicule  I 
have  been  inveighing  against,  is  employed  in  a  good 
and  serious  spirit,  it  is  used  a  hundred  times  for  the 
mere  pleasure  of  mockery  and  for  the  love  of  teazing. 
I  do  not  altogether  exculpate  EUcsmcre  from  tliat  latter 
motive  having  sometimes  been  a  predominant  one  with 
him. 

Lady  EUcsmere.  You  are  very  hard  upon  Leonard. 
I  am  sure  he  is  right  as  to  the  rarity  of  a  good  motive 


2o8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

for  the  peculiar  form  of  ridicule  he  has  been  attacking. 
I  do  not  say  that  the  motive  is  always  malicious.  It 
is  very  seldom  so  perhaps  ;  but  it  generally  shows  a 
thorough  carelessness  of  other  people's  feelings.  I  think 
you  may  observe  that  we  women  seldom  use  it ;  and, 
for  this  reason,  we  perceive,  much  more  quickly  than 
you  rude  men  do,  when  any  person  is  suffering  from 
mental  pain. 

Mrs.  Milvei-ton.     Certainly,  my  dear. 

Lady  Ellesviere.  You  spoke  of  the  father  of  a  family. 
Sir  Arthur,  making  use  of  this  kind  of  ridicule.  The 
mother  ,would  not  deal  with  the  follies  of  the  children 
in  that  way.  We  have  not  avoided  what  is  personal 
in  this  talL  I  often  see  that  our  boy  does  not  quite 
understand  his  father's  jesting  Avays ;  but,  if  it  were 
not  vain  to  say  so,  I  think  I  can  produce  the  greater 
effect  in  my  humble  way,  which  has  never  a  touch  of 
ridicule  in  it. 

Then,  to  look  at  the  matter  in  a  broader  light. 
Ycu  know  as  well  as  possible,  all  of  you,  that  there 
is  a  disposition,  when  you  men  or  boys  get  together, 
to  make  a  butt  of  some  poor  fellow.  And  not  always, 
for  his  demerits.  Very  often  for  his  scrupulous- 
ness ;  for  his  delicacy ;  for  his  affectionateness ;  and 
because  he  will  not  join  in  something  which  is  wrong, 
or  unfair,  or  unkind  :  but  which  the  vulgar  notions  of 
his  little  community  tolerate,  or  even  think  very  line. 
That  is  what  Leonard  was  aiming  at ;  and  you  know  it. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  209 

and  you  take  little  points  against  him,  and  pretend  to 
believe,  that  in  any  short  essay  of  this  kind,  he  could 
have  exhausted  the  whole  subject  of  ridicule. 

EUesmere.  Well  done,  Dame  Ellesmere  !  but  you 
need  not  be  so  tempestuous.  I  simply  pointed  out 
that  he  had  not  exhausted  the  whole  subject.  Perhaps 
it  was  superfluous  to  mention  this ;  but  I  do  not  think 
it  was  very  wicked,  or  deserved  all  this  scornfulness. 

Milverton.  Mildred  has  taken  my  part  so  admirably, 
that  I  need  say  but  little  more.  One  thing,  however, 
I  will  say,  and  that  is,  that  if  there  were  more  love 
in  the  world,  there  would  be  a  great  deal  less  of 
this  kind  of  ridicule.  We  measure  men's  capacities 
very  wrongly.  The  thing  which  makes  one  man 
greater  than  another,  the  quality  by  which  we  ought  to 
measure  greatness,  is  a  man's  capacity  for  loving ;  and 
the  greater  this  capacity,  the  less,  I  maintain,  would 
be  his  employment  of  ridicule  to  effect  any  good 
purpose. 

Ellesmere  made  no  reply,  merely  shrugged 
his  shoulders.  Perhaps  he  thought  that  the 
conversation  was  becoming'  a  little  too 
serious.  The  others  also  were  silent;  and 
we  were  about  to  separate,  several  of  our 
party  having  to  go  to  London  that  day,  when 
Sir  Arthur  suddenly  said  : — 

p 


2IO  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  must  tell  you  a  story  which  came 
into  m}'  miml  while  Milverton  was  reading  his  essay. 
I  hope  thus  to  redeem  my  credit  with  Lady  Ellesmere, 
for  the  story  will  decidedly  tell  in  Milverton's  favour, 
while,  at  the  same  lime,  it  indicates  some  of  the  limits 
which  I  should  wish  to  place  to  those  sayings  of  his 
which  seemed  to  me  rather  unguarded. 

The  story  is  in  one  of  Hans  Christian  Andersen's 
books.  -He  calls  it  a  "Picture-book  without  Pic- 
tures." 

The  INIoon  comes  to  a  solitary  student  at  night, 
and  tells  him  what  she  has  seen. 

Ellesmere.     What  he  has  seen,  please. 

Sir  Arthur.  The  Moon  sees  a  little  girl  weeping 
over  the  wickedness  of  the  world.  A  beautiful  doll  had 
been  given  her.  "  Oh  !  it  was  such  a  doll,"  the  Moon 
said — a  doll  not  made  to  endure  the  miseries  of  this  life. 
Now  this  little  maiden  had  two  naughty,  rude  big 
brothers.  They  had  thrown  the  doll  high  up  into  a 
tree  in  the  garden,  and  had  then  run  away. 

The  little  maiden  knew  that  the  doll  cried  too.  It 
stretched  out  its  arms  down  between  the  green  branches 
and  looked  the  picture  of  wretchedness.  "  Ah,"  said  the 
little  maiden,  "  these  are  the  sorrows  of  the  world,  of 
which  mamma  is  so  often  talking." 

That  is  a  very  sly  touch  of  Andersen's,  is  it  not? 
Our  sorrows  are  mostly  of  this  kind,  -but  the  doll  we 
doat  upon  is  a  little  too  high  up  for  our  attainment. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  2ii 

Ellesmere.  Now  don't  moralise,  Sir  Arthur  :  I  want  to 
hear  the  end  of  the  story. 

Sir  Ai-thur.  Meanwhile  the  darkness  of  night  began 
to  come  on ;  and  the  maiden  said  she  could  never  leave 
the  dear  doll  to  be  sitting  up  there  alone  all  night. 
"  I  will  remain  with  thee,"  she  said  ;  but  she  didn't  feel 
very  happy  at  the  thought  of  being  alone  in  the  dark,  all 
night.  And  soon  she  began  to  see  wicked  little  elves 
with  their  pointed  caps,  cowering  in  the  bushes ;  and 
behind  them,  in  the  dark  path,  danced  tall  spectres. 
They  all  moved  nearer  to  her,  and  pointed  their  fingers 
up  at  the  doll,  laughing  mockingly.  Oh  !  how  frightened 
then  was  the  little  maiden  ;  but  she  took  heart,  for  she 
said  to  herself,  "When  one  hasn't  done  anything  wrong, 
these  wicked  things  can't  hurt  one.  But  have  I  ever 
done  anything  wrong  ?  "  And  then  she  thouglit  for  a 
bit.  "Ah!  yes!  I  laughed  at  the  poor  duck,  with  the 
red  rag  round  its  broken  leg,  which  limped  so  funnily 
that  it  made  me  laugh  ;  but  it  is  a  sin,  you  know,  to  laugh 
at  poor  creatures;"  and  then  she  looked  up  at  the  doll 
and  said,  "  Hast  thou  ever  laughed  at  poor  animals  ?  " 
And  it  seemed  to  the  child  as  if  the  doll  shook  her 
head.     And  then  the  Moon  was  obliged  to  go  on. 

Not  having  the  book  before  me  to  translate  all  of 
it  to  you,  1  can  only  give  a  faint  notion  of  the  prettiness 
of  the  story.  But  you  see  how  it  ai)plics.  There  was 
the  wicked  chafling  in  action,  though  not  in  speech, 
of  the  two  naughty  boys,  and  the  righteous  feeling  of 


212  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

the  little  maiden  who  knew  that  she  had  done  wrong  in 
laughing  at  the  lame  duck,  for  even  the  lower  animals 
do  not  like  to  be  laughed  at,  when  the  cause  is  no 
laughing  matter  for  them. 

EUtsmere.  Yes,  the  story  is  very  applicable.  I  wish 
it  had  ended  happily.  Perhaps  it  did;  but  the  Moon 
was  no  doubt  obliged  to  go  on.  I  would  have  a 
law  that  all  stories  should  be  made  to  end  happily. 
Why  should  our  feelings  be  harrowed  in  fiction  when 
they  are  sufficiently  tormented  in  real  life.  But  we 
have  no  time  to  lose  if  we  are  to  catch  that  imperious 
train. 

Thus  the  conversation  ended. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

T3  EFERENCE  was  made,  in  the  course 
of  the  next  morning's  conversation, 
to  a  possible  essay  with  which  Cranmer  had 
threatened  us  respecting  the  mismanage- 
ment by  rich  men  of  their  riches.  He  had 
not  prepared  any  essay,  but  he  then  and 
there  gave  us  his  views  at  some  length. 
To  tell  the  truth,  there  was  nothing  very 
original  in  them.  He  spoke  of  the  mighty 
power  of  riches,  and  of  the  many  great 
objects  to  which  these  riches  might  be 
devoted.  His  list  of  wants  was  very  large, 
and  I  need  not  enumerate  them.  I  now 
pass  to  the  conversation  which  ensued. 

Sir  Arthur.     You  expect  them  to  do  a  great   deal, 
forgetting   how  every  one's  time   is  frittered   away   by 


2  14   •  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

the  small  claims  upon  it,  which  cannot  be  denied  or 
ignored. 

Milvertou.  To  do  any  great  good  in  the  world,  you 
want  brains  as  well  as  means  ;  purpose  as  well  as  both 
means  and  brains. 

Maulrverer.  Then  riches  bring  suspiciousness  with 
them  as  surely  as — 

Ellesmere.     Overeating  and  drinking  bring  gout. 

Sir  ArtJmr.  Then  rich  people  are  almost  always 
guided,  and  as  some  would  say,  defended,  by  men  of 
business — the  kind  of  men  who  object  to  all  schemes. 

Milverton.  As  to  saying  that  rich  men  are  less  bene- 
volent than  other  men,  that  is  quite  absurd.  Sir  Arthur 
spoke  of  the  small  daily  claims  which  press  upon  them, 
as  these  do  upon  all  other  men.  But  there  is  another, 
and  a  less  obvious  cause,  for  these  rich  men  not  devoting 
themselves  to  the  great  objects  which  Cranmer  proposed 
for  them.  This  cause,  by  the  way,  often  applies  to 
statesmen,  as  well  as  to  rich  men ;  and  has  been  already 
indicated  by  Mauleverer.  The  first-rate  thing  to  be 
done,  or  to  be  attempted  to  be  done,  is  not  even 
attempted,  because  the  attention  is  taken  up  by  a  multi- 
tude of  second-rate  things  :  and  so  the  conscience  is 
satisfied. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  have  observed,  JNIilverton,  that  there 
is  one  point  upon  which  you  and  I  always  agree ;  and 
that  is,  the  want  of  forethought  in  mankind.  We  both 
apply  our  remarks  to  men  of  our  own  craft — to   states- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  215 

men  and  official  men ;  but,  surely,  it  applies  to  all 
persons.  And,  as  regards  the  matter  we  are  considering, 
it  is  forethought  that  is  wanted  on  the  part  of  the  rich, 
forethought  in  the  public  interest. 

Now  I  am  going  to  say  something  which  Mauleverer 
ought  to  have  said  ;  for  it  is  very  detrimental  to  the 
progress  of  the  human  race.  Dr.  Johnson  also  would 
have  said  it.  I  infer  how  little  men  think  of  public 
affairs,  from  their  dreams.  No  man  has  ever  related  to 
me  a  dream  in  which  those  public  affairs  entered.  Their 
dreams,  however  absurd  and  irrelevant,  are  always,  if  I 
may  say  so,  personal. 

Mauleverer.  You  are  quite  right,  Sir  Arthur,  I  ought 
to  have  said  this ;  but  I  am  not  sure  that  I  am  capable 
of  making  so  subtle  an  observation.  Milverton  pretends 
to  care  a  great  deal  about  public  events,  and  the  actions 
of  statesmen.  Will  he  tell  us  that  these  things  ever  enter 
into  his  dreams  ? 

Milverton.  No ;  but  I  can  detract  from  the  subtlety 
of  the  remark,  by  observing,  that  dreams  are  mostly  pro- 
duced by  physical  circumstances.  You  are  hot,  or  you 
are  cold,  or  you  hear  a  noise,  or  your  little  finger  aches, 
and  the  dream  is  built  upon  that  physical  circumstance. 
Still  I  admit  the  subtlety  of  the  remark,  and  I  do  fear 
that,  rarely  indeed,  is  a  man  so  deeply  interested  by  the 
general  affairs  of  the  world,  as  to  make  their  pressure 
upon  his  mind  a  predominant  one. 

Sir  Arthur.     My  remark  about    dreams  was  merely 


2i6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

a  casual  one,  and  must  not  carry  us  away  from  the 
main  point  of  the  subject,  namely,  the  conduct  of  rich 
men  as  regards  the  use  of  their  riches. 

You  must  look  carefully  at  the  origin  of  riches  in  each 
particular  case.  This  furnishes  in  my  mind  the  real 
solution  to  the  question.  Riches  are  either  hereditary 
(long-descended  I  mean)  ;  or  they  have  been  acquired  in 
the  lifetime  of  the  man  who  now  possesses  them  ;  or  else 
they  are  possessed  by  the  sons  or  near  kinsfolk  of  the 
man  who  has  suddenly  made  a  great  fortune.  In  the  first 
case,  there  are  nearly  sure  to  be  large  hereditary  claims, 
such  as  the  keeping  up  of  great  houses  or  the  like. 

In  the  second  case,  they  are  seldom  acquired  until  the 
man  has  advanced  into  the  second  stage  of  middle  life, 
and  he  cannot  undertake  new  adventures,  with  respect 
to  which  he  has  no  experience. 

In  the  third  case,  the  possesser  is  considerably  puzzled 
as  to  what  to  do  with  these  riches.  Naturally,  one  of  his 
first  objects  is  to  rise  into  a  higher  social  sphere ;  and 
this  furnishes  sufficient  occupation  for  him.  He  is  gene- 
rally a  liberal  man,  and  indulges  largely  in  those  second- 
rate  projects  for  the  use  of  wealth,  to  which  Milverton 
alluded.  Still  it  is  to  him,  if  to  anybody,  that  we  must 
look  for  a  consideration  of  the  greater  projects  which 
Cranmer  laid  down  for  all  rich  men. 

Milverton.  I  think  that  rich  men  are  often  deficient 
as  regards  small  acts  of  graciousness ;  but  this  is  from 
want  of  imagination.     Now  I  know  of  one  rich  man — 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  217 

alas,  he  is  dead  ! — who  was  always  anxious  to  make  his 
houses  of  use  to  poorer  people.  He  was  a  very  loving 
man,  and  could  not  bear  that  anything  he  possessed 
should  lie  useless,  and  be  of  no  good  to  anybody. 
Accordingly  he  would  lend  a  house  in  the  country  for  a 
season  to  some  poor  friend.  It  was  a  very  nice  and 
delicate  act  of  graciousness ;  and  it  exactly  exemplifies 
what  I  mean. 

EUesmere.  I  proposed  an  act  of  graciousness  on  the 
part  of  the  State,  which  would  have  been  a  delightful  use 
for  certain  moneys.  I  don't  care  much  about  music 
myself.  Indeed  I  often  wonder  at  the  sort  of  passionate 
delight  which  Milverton,  and  people  like  him,  have  in 
the  tinkling  of  cymbals ;  but  I  suppose  that  their  profes- 
sions of  delight  are  sincere.  I  proposed  to  a  grave 
statesman,  who  looked  daggers  at  me  for  the  proposal, 
that  the  surplus  of  the  Irish  Church  revenues  should  be 
devoted  to  giving  opera-boxes  to  poor  people  who  are 
very  fond  of  music.  What  are  you  all  giggling  at?  I'll 
bet  any  money  that  tliat  surplus  will  not  be  half  so  well 
employed.  Dear  old  Peabody  used  to  send  orders  for 
opera-boxes  to  poor  friends.  I  was  once  present  when 
one  of  these  orders  arrived  for  a  poor  family  devoted 
to  music ;  and,  I  declare,  I  have  seldom  seen  such  joy 
manifested  by  any  human  beings.  I  don't  mind  telling 
you  that  since  that  time,  I  have  sometimes  done  some- 
thing of  the  same  kind  myself.  Very  wrong,  of  course, 
for  I  ought  to  have  given  the  money  to  a  hospital  (I 


2i8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

like  hospitals),  but  I  was  fascinated  by  the  recollection 
of  the  joy  which  Peabody's  gift  of  an  opera-box  had 
produced  in  that  poor  family.  I  have  a  stupid  love 
of  giving  pleasure  which  is  very  contemptible. 

Milverton.  You  are  certainly  the  most  audacious  man 
in  the  world,  EUesmere.  How  you  ventured  to  make 
that  impertinent  remark  to  that  arid  statesman  [Sir  John 
had  told  us  his  name],  I  cannot  imagine. 

EUesmere.  The  practice  of  audacity  is  much  en- 
couraged by  having  the  honour  to  be  one  of  the 
"  Friends  in  Council." 

Milverton.  This  talk  about  riches  has  put  me  in 
mind  of  something  I  should  like  to  say  to  you.  It  relates 
to  bequests.  There  should  be  no  rational  fear  of  mort- 
maia  in  these  days.  There  is  no  chance  that  any  large 
part  of  the  propeity  ot  the  country  will  be  trusted  to 
uniraproving  hands ;  but,  in  my  official  experience,  I 
have  found  that  the  great  lawyers  of  the  present  day 
have  still  a  fear  that  property  may  be  so  misused.  For 
my  own  part,  I  should  delight  in  the  corporation  of  any 
great  town  being  allowed  to  hold  a  large  amount  of  pro- 
perty ;  and  I  wish  that  rich  men  would  leave  them  such 
amounts.  There  has  been  in  my  time  an  enormous 
bequest  left  to  a  particular  to^vn,  and  it  was  rendered 
null  and  void,  for  want  of  specific  "  directions "  as 
to  what  was  to  be  done  with  it.  I  think  thai  one  of  the 
greatest  pieces  of  injustice  I  have  known  committed 
entirely  by  lawyers. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  219 

Sir  Arthur.  I  have  a  great  fear,  that,  in  this  age, 
testators  will  be  afraid  to  leave  large  sums  of  money  for 
charitable  or  educational  purposes,  on  the  ground  that 
their  bequests  will  not  be  dealt  with  hereafter  in  the  spirit 
with  which  they  were  made.  Such  a  phrase  as  "  The 
pious  founder  must  go  to  the  wall,"  is  most  mischievous. 
I  fully  admit  that  the  founder,  if  living  now,  would  make 
a  different  use,  conformable  with  the  spirit  of  the  age,  of 
his  bequest.  But  I  think  that  we  should  have  a  very 
careful  regard  to  the  original  views  of  the  founder. 

Ellesmere.  Indulge  us,  Sir  Arthur,  with  details.  I 
really  do  not  know  exactly  what  you  mean. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  will  explain.  Suppose  the  founder 
has  left  money  for  clothing  as  well  as  education.  I 
would  not  confiscate  the  money  for  clothing,  and  give 
it  all  to  education.  You  may  think  me  a  stupid 
fellow  of  the  olden  time;  but,  with  a  view  of  bringing 
boys  of  talent  or  of  genius  to  the  fore,  and  thus  making 
talent  and  genius  useful  to  the  State  (this  will  please 
Milverton),  I  should  aim  to  make  my  boy  entirely  inde- 
pendent of  his  parents,  I  mean  in  a  pecuniary  sense, 
otherwise  I  might  not  get  him. 

Milverton.  One  of  the  greatest  surprises  of  my  life 
was  that,  in  a  company  of  eminent  men  of  the  present 
day,  1  found  that  the  majority  of  them  were  against 
Foundations  or  Exhibitions  of  any  kind.  It  seemed  to 
me  that  they  ignored  all  history  and  all  biography ;  for 
several  of  our  greatest  men,  from   Newton  downwards, 


220  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

might  never  have  been  heard  of,  if  the  State  had  not 
been  enriched  by  these  Foundations  and  Exhibitions. 

A  dead  level  is  now  greatly  to  be  feared,  according  to 
which  all  boys  will  receive  exactly  the  same  education. 
This  will  make  a  very  poor  set  of  men. 

Sir  Arthur.     Of  course  it  will. 

Milverton.  We  have  all  been  considering  the  great 
good  which  sundry  rich  men  could  do  with  their  riches. 
I  wish  to  show  you,  on  the  other  hand,  the  great  mischief 
which,  by  the  injudicious  use  of  these  riches,  they  do 
occasionally. 

Ostentation  is  the  great  evil  occasioned  by  riches — 
the  prevention  of  simplicity  of  living — the  raising  the 
standard  of  show. 

EUesme7-e,  There  I  am  entirely  with  you  ;  but  I  can 
never  persuade  you  that  the  main  evil  of  all  this  osten- 
tation is  the  increase  of  time  which  it  takes.  That  mis- 
use and  that  abuse  of  time  is  the  thing  which  I  complain 
of.  To  descend  into  details.  I  do  not  object,  at  a  great 
and  sumptuous  dinner,  to  have  rare  and  forced  vege- 
tables presented  to  me.  I  rather  agree  with  those  people 
who  say  that  this  form  of  sumptuousness  encourages  a 
high  kind  of  horticulture,  which  is  really  very  beneficial 
to  the  general  public ;  but  what  I  do  complain  of  is  the 
length  of  the  entertainment.  Cut  that  short,  and  you 
will  have  me  in  concert  mth  the  entertainers. 

Milverton.  Oh  !  of  course,  if  we  could  regulate  the 
entertainments    of  the   world,    we     could   make    them 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  221 

into  real  pleasures,  and  that  immortal  saying  of  Sir 
George  Lewis's,  which  I  am  never  weary  of  quoting, 
would  lose  its  point.  Now  take  a  ball,  for  instance.  If 
one  could  persuade  the  great  lady  of  the  house  to 
diminish  her  invitations  by  about  a  third  ;  if  she  could 
make  it  the  fashion  to  come  early  and  to  leave  off  early ; 
if  the  refreshments  were  of  a  simple  kind,  so  that  they 
did  not  set  the  example  of  ostentation  :  surely  these 
would  be  great  improvements? 

Ellesmere.  There  we  see  the  weakness  of  the  man 
who  loves  dancing. 

Milverton.  You  do  not  perceive,  my  dear  Ellesmere, 
that  for  a  man  to  succeed  in  this  life,  he  should 
have  distinct  and  well-known  foibles.  This  takes 
off  the  sharp  edge  of  envy.  No  man  is  sincerely  and 
securely  loved,  except  by  those  who  know  his  foibles. 

The  conversation  then  took  a  jesting" 
turn.  Sir  John  Ellesmere  made  great  fun 
of  middle-aged  or  elderly  gentlemen  who 
would  persist  in  dancing.  Mr.  Milverton 
maintained  that  they  were  great  benefactors 
to  society,  and  that  being  sure  not  to 
be,  what  prudent  mammas  called  "  detri- 
mentals," they  helped  to  keep  up  the  gaiety 
of  the  world. 


Z2Z  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

And  so  ended  our  conversation  upon  the 
grand  use  that  might  be  made  of  riches,  if 
any  rich  man  were  wise  enough  to  appre- 
ciate this  grandeur. 


w^ 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

'E  were  In  the  library,  on  the  succeed- 
ing- day,  and  were  ready  to  hear 
any  essay  or  speech  that  any  one  of  the 
*' Friends"  would  favour  us  with;  but  no- 
thing of  the  kind  was  forthcoming,  and  the 
conversation  was  of  a  general  nature. 

Ellcsmere.  I  confess  I  am  glad  that  none  of  my  good 
friends  are  ready  to  impose  upon  us  his  or  her  particular 
crotchets ;  or,  to  speak  more  respectfully,  their  lucubra- 
tions, in  the  form  of  set  discourse.  The  day  after  a 
party  is  the  pleasantest  for  those  who  remain  in  the 
house.  There  are  rare  dishes  to  be  tasted,  which  had 
been  passed  over  unnoticed,  on  the  day  of  the  party  ; 
and  what  the  company  said  and  did  affords  an  agreeable 
entertainment,  not  unspiced,  sometimes,  with  satire.  I 
like  the  odds  and  ends  of  things. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  am  pleased,  too,  at  our  having  notliing 
special  to  discuss,  for  I  should  like  to  go  back  to  one  or 


2  24  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

two  subjects  whicli  have  laid  hold  of  my  mind  in  refer- 
ence to  some  of  our  first  discussions. 

Do  }ou  remember  that  in  the  course  of  some  essay,  or 
conversation  upon  an  essay,  Milverton  said  something 
of  this  kind  (I  can't  vouch  for  the  exact"  words) — "  He 
would  be  the  greatest  man  of  his  generation  who  could 
find  employment  for  .those  clever  people  who  are  now 
unemployed  "?  I  began  to  think  of  the  subjects  I  should 
wish  investigated.  This  thought  haunted  me.  Through 
a  great  part  of  last  night  I  couldn't  sleep  for  thinking 
what  men  upon  what  subjects  I  should  like  to  have  the 
power  to  employ. 

EUesmere.  Oh !  it's  no  good  scheming  to  employ 
other  men  with  what  may  seem  to  you  good  work. 
Every  man  will  only  do  well  what  he  takes  to  of  his 
own  accord.  Why,  even  I,  a  man  not  given  to  wondrous 
schemes  of  investigation,  or  benevolence,  could  suggest 
five  hundred  things  upon  which  the  unemployed  might 
usefully  employ  themselves.  But  they  won't  do  it.  It 
is  only  the  busy  and  the  overworked  men  upon  whom 
you  can  throw  any  extra  work  with  some  chance  of  its 
being  welcomed. 

Sir  Arthur.  Bide  a  wee,  Master  EUesmere,  I  shall 
ultimately  say  something  with  whicli  you  will  be  com- 
pelled to  agree. 

Mauleverer.  I  don't  wish  to  employ  men  more  than 
they  are  employed.  If  you  were  to  make  the  idle  men 
busy,  they  would  only  do  mischief.    Already  the  fussiness 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  225 

and  interferingness  of  mankind  are  the  greatest  evils  in 
the  world. 

But  I  am  ready  to  hear  anything  that  Sir  Arthur  has 
to  say. 

Sir  Arthur.  Well,  in  few  words,  my  thought  was 
:his — How  I  should  like  to  employ  certain  persons  to 
investigate  the  unknown,  or  at  least  unascertained,  forces 
in  the  world. 

Elksmere.  This  is  indeed,  to  use  the  slang  of  the 
day,  a  large  order. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  am  prepared  for  a  great  deal  of  ridi- 
cule ;  but  I  say  that  during  the  last  five-and-twenty  years 
there  have  been  indications  of  the  existence  of  certain 
unknown  forces  which  it  is  of  the  highest  importance  to 
mankind  to  investigate. 

At  present  the  spiritualist,  the  juggler,  and  a  few 
severe  men  of  science,  are  the  only  persons  who 
have  given  real  attention  to  these  subjects.  In  what 
I  am  now  going  to  say  I  ought  to  have  Ellesmere 
with  me.  I  want  to  have  these  matters  investigated  by 
men  who  are  good  judges  of  evidence,  especially  by 
lawyers. 

Milverton.  I  am  wholly  with  you,  but  perhaps  for 
very  different  reasons.  First,  wherever  there  is  impo.s- 
ture,  I  am  exceedingly  desirous  that  it  should  be 
detected.  And  secondly,  I  want  these  matters  to  be 
investigated  in  order  to  bring  before  mankind  more 
fully   the  laws  of   evidence — to  show  wherein   ordinary 


226  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

evidence  fails,  and  what  amount  of  what  evidence   is 
sufficient  to  substantiate  an  extraordinary  statement. 

Sir  Art/iur.  I  know  very  well  that  you  all  think  me 
rather  superstitious.  You  would  say  that  I  am  of  the 
same  order  of  mind,  in  this  respect,  as  my  dear  friend, 
the  late  Lord  Lytton.  But  I  think  I  could  tell  you 
some  things  which  would  rather  astonish  you. 

Hereupon  Sir  Arthur  related  to  us  several 
most  extraordinary  stories  having  relation 
to  his  unknown  forces,  to  which  narratives 
Sir  John  Ellesmere,  of  course,  took  many 
clever  objections,  showing  where,  at  some 
crucial  point  of  the  stor}%  fraud  or  delusion 
might  enter.  I  do  not  communicate  these 
stories,  because,  in  every  case,  the  names  of 
living  persons,  who  might  not  approve  of 
their  experiences  being  recounted,  were  men- 
tioned. 

Milverton.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  telling  what  once 
occurred  to  me,  especially  as  I  have  told  it  before.  A 
number  of  us,  men  of  science,  men  of  literature,  and 
lawyers,  were  resolved  to  have  a  great  seance.  It  was  the 
only  one  at  which  I  ever  assisted.  We  had  laid  our 
plans  beforehand  most  carefully.     The  late   Master  of 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  227 

Trinity,  Dr.  Whewell,  either  wrote  to  us,  or  inforn^ed  us 
verbally,  that  there  was  immense  difficulty  in  making  a 
skilful  person  blindfold  who  did  not  choose  to  be  blind- 
folded. Such  a  person  could  contrive  to  keep  the 
bandage  a  little  removed  from  his  eyes,  and  so  the  dark- 
ness would  not  be  complete. 

The  celebrated  Alexis  was  the  unfortunate  being  upon 
whom  we  had  to  experiment.  We  placed  large  masses 
of  cotton  wool  over  the  face,  leaving  only  breathing 
spaces,  and  we  tied  up  the  head  with  numerous  band- 
ages, so  that  it  appeared  like  a  huge  pudding. 

Then  the  seance  commenced.  Various  wonderful 
things  were  done,  but  to  my  sceptical  mind  it  appe.red 
to  me  possible,  though  of  course  I  could  not  see  how, 
that  all  these  things  could  have  been  done  by  some 
subtle  mode  of  communication  between  Alexis  and  the 
man  who  came  with  him,  and  who  had  to  put  him  into 
the  mesmeric  trance.  It  is  true  that  this  man  remained 
apparently  quite  impassive. 

You  may  see  how  carefully  our  preparations  were 
made,  when  I  tell  you  that  two  of  our  company  were 
told  off  to  watch  that  man,  and  never  to  take  their  eyes 
off  him.  Afterwards,  they  were  unable  to  tell  us  that 
they  had  discovered  anything. 

Then  the  seance  degenerated,  as  I  thought,  into  a  most 
absurd  proceeding.  Alexis  was  to  describe  the  houses 
of  some  of  the  persons  present.  Well,  one  house  is 
very  like  another,  and  I  thought  all  this  part  of  the 


2  2S  SOCIAL  rK/:SSi'RE. 

shnir\-Q\y  shallow  and  tri\ial,  I  went  away  into  another 
room,  communicatnig,  by  folding  doors,  thrown  open, 
with  the  great  room  where  Alexis  and  his  friend  were 
surrounded  by  the  inquirers.  Another  man  followed  me. 
This  is,  of  course,  the  weak  point  in  my  story,  the  one 
on  which  Ellesmere  will  comment.  I  may,  however,  add 
that  this  other  man  was  a  dear  and  intimate  friend  of 
mine,  in  whose  good  faith  towards  me  I  have  a  belief 
that  cannot  be  shaken.  He,  like  myself,  had  come  away 
because  he  thought  that  what  the  rest  were  doing  could 
lead  to  nothing  definite. 

The  house,  if  I  recollect  rightly,  was  Lord  Mel- 
bourne's, in  South  Street ;  and  the  distance  was  at  least 
eighty  or  ninety  feet  that  separated  us  two  from  the 
group  that  closely  surrounded  Alexis.  Either  my  friend 
or  I  proposed  that  we  should  write  something,  fold  it 
up,  enclose  it  in  an  envelope,  and  present  it  to  Alexis  to 
be  read.  The  words  that  we  did  write  were  not  uttered. 
I  folded  up  the  sheet  of  notepaper,  put  it  in  an  envelope, 
and  went  back  to  my  friends  in  the  other  room.  Rather 
rudely,  for  I  was  a  very  young  man,  and  there  were 
grave  and  reverend  seniors  present,  I  broke  through  the 
circle,  had  the  audacity  to  say  that  I  thought  their 
present  proceedings  were  rather  vague  and  could  lead  to 
■nothing  certain,  and  that  I  wished  to  see  whether  Alexis 
could  read  what  was  within  this  envelope.  Alexis  put  it 
to  his  chin,  and  in  about  thirty-five  seconds  (for  I  par- 
tirularlv  noticed  the  time)  read    out  the  words,  which 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.        ■       229 

consisted  of  the  names  of  a  celebrated  Byzantine 
emperor.  Now,  Ellesmere,  for  I  see  you  are  most 
anxious  to  interrupt  me,  don't  suppose  that  I  make 
this  statement  with  a  view  to  prove  to  your  mind  that 
Alexis  had  any  of  what,  for  want  of  a  better  term,  are 
loosely  called  supernatural  powers.  I  adduce  it  to  illus- 
trate three  things. 

First,  to  show  what  should  be  done  to  ensure  con- 
vincing experiments.  You  will  believe  me  when  I  tell 
you  that  I  was  not  a  co-conspirator  with  Alexis,  but  you 
cannot  have  the  same  assurance  as  regards  the  other 
man.     You  have  only  my  belief  in  his  honesty. 

Secondly,  there  is  nothing  to  show — I  have  no  proof 
to  adduce — that  the  companion  of  Alexis  somehow  or 
other  did  not  contrive  to  make  himself  master  of  what 
we  had  done. 

Thirdly,  there  remains  the  great  question  of  whether 
Alexis  had  or  had  not  some  power,  not  by  any  means 
a  supernatural  power,  of  seeing  further  into  things  than 
we  can  see. 

I  entirely  agree  with  Sir  Arthur  that  these  questions 
deserve  investigation.  By  judicious  investigation  we 
may  discover  fraud  or  delusion,  or  we  may  obtain  more 
accurate  views  of  the  just  laws  of  evidence  ;  or  we  may 
ascertain  the  existence  and  the  limits  of  some  force  or 
power  that  we  know  nothing  of. 

Ellesmere.  You  have  anticipated  me.  That  is  a 
regular  practice  of  yours,  which  you  have  pursued  right 


2r,o  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

tlirough  life,  to  declare  what  could  be  said  against  you. 
That  is  why  you  bring  us  "  Friends  in  Council"  together, 
and  make  puppets  of  us. 

Sir  Arthur.  Now  I  come  in  with  my  first  remarks  as 
regards  the  people  who  should  be  employed  to  look  after 
these  things.     You  remember  L.  and  H.  ? 

He  named  living  persons. 

I  always  have  thought  they  were  the  most  remarkable 
men  of  our  time  at  Cambridge.  L.  was  even  then  the 
best  judge  of  evidence  I  have  ever  known.  He  would 
give  you  the  substance  of  a  great  debate  in  the  House  of 
Commons.  He  would  show  you-  how  far  this  speaker 
went ;  where  he  was  partially  answered  by  a  man  on  the 
other  side ;  and,  eventually,  what  was  the  real  upshot  of 
the  debate.  When  you  read  that  debate,  you  saw  what 
a  wonderful  judge  of  evidence  our  friend  L.  was. 

Now  for  H.  He  was  a  high  Wrangler.  He  was  the 
best  explainer  of  natural  phenomena  that  I  ever  listened 
to,  and  was  also  a  wonderful  judge  of  evidence.  He 
sat  for  some  time  as  a  judge.  But  both  these  men  are 
men  of  fortune.  They  retired  into  private  life,  and  their 
extraordinary  abilities  are  lost  to  the  world. 

These  are  the  kind  of  fellows  I  wish  to  employ  in 
investigating  my  unknown  forces. 

Milve7-ton.  Now  I  will  tell  you  something  which  I 
had  never  intended  to  tell  to  any  human  being.     There 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  231 

are  two  subjects  which  have  been  the  torments  of  my 
hfe — the  war  of  men  with  men,  and  the  crueUy  of  men 
to  animals.  With  regard  to  the  latter  I  think  we  shall 
do  something,  even  in  our  own  generation. 

With  regard  to  the  former,  I  am  almost  hopeless  in 
respect  to  all  ordinary  motives  and  conclusions.  It  is  in 
vain  that  you  show  the  vast  folly  of  war.  Oddly  enough 
a  Frenchman,  M.  Bastiat,  has  beaten  all  of  us  in  showing 
the  vastness  of  this  folly.  It  is  really  no  good  arguing. 
The  armies  of  Europe  go  on  increasing  and  increasing  ; 
and  each  State,  with  some  show  of  reason,  says :  "  If  I 
am  to  be  kept  intact,  if  my  commerce  is  to  be  insured, 
if  my  people  are  to  be  protected  from  the  horrors  of 
invasion — I  must  endeavour  to  maintain  fleets  and 
armies  which  will  keep  my  dear  good  neighbours  in 
sufficient  fear  of  me."  And,  what  are  you  to  say  to 
this  self-preservation  argument  ? 

EUesmcre.     Nothing  that  I  can  see. 

Milvcrton.  Well,  then,  Ellesmere  may  laugh  at  me. 
You  others  may  partially  sympathise  with  me  ;  but  you 
may  think  that  what  I  am  going  to  say  is  what  the 
Germans  describe  in  that  untranslatable  word,  Schivdr- 
inerei.  But  my  only  hope  rests  in  great  discoveries  and 
inventions  which  would  reveal  things  that  are  now  hidden 
from  us. 

You  may  set  me  down  as  a  dreamer  and  an  enthusiast, 
but  I  believe  in  a  Beneficent  Creator,  and  I  believe  in  the 
continued  progress  of  mankind  towards  a  much  higher 


2y.  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

cirilization  than  we  have  liitherto  acquired.  But  1  believe 
that  this  progress  depends  to  a  certain  extent  upon  future 
discoveries  of  great  laws  of  nature.  Not  upon  discovering 
that  iron  is  a  better  material  than  wood  for  resistance,  or 
upon  each  nation  making  a  bigger  gun  than  has  been  made 
by  its  neighbour  nation.  Mankind,  I  hope,  will  yet  dis- 
cover iOme  physical  fact — something  which  we  now  call 
suj-ernatural — which  may  at  once  lead  them  to  perceive 
the  enormous  folly  and  wickedness  of  settling  nice  ques- 
tions of  policy  by  nothing  more  pertinent  to  the  subject 
than  brute  force.  It  is  to  science,  rightly  directed,  that  I 
look  for  the  gradual  discontinuance  of  war.  Otherwise 
I  should  despair  of  the  human  race.  This  is  why  I 
heartily  agree  with  Sir  Arthur  in  thinking  that  if  we 
could  employ  our  best  men  in  investigating  the  most 
mysterious  branches  of  human  knowledge,  which  are 
brought  before  us  by  those  whom  you  are  pleased  to  call 
quacks  and  impostors,  we  should  not  be  losing  human 
time  or  effort. 

Ellcsmcre.  These  questions  are  beyond  me.  My 
wings  are  not  strong  enough  to  partake  the  airy  flights 
of  imagination  with  which  our  poetical  friends.  Sir  Arthur 
and  Milverton,  soar  above.  Don't  think  me  a  brute  or 
a  savage.  I  really  sympathise  with  you,  though  you  hardly 
believe  it.  I  think  that  half  the  questions  which  produce 
war  might  far  better  be  settled  by  diplomatists  aided  by 
lawyers  j  and  though  I  could  have  said  something  anent 
the  Alabama   negotiations  which  might  have  been  ur. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  233 

pleasant  to  both  sides,  I  still  thought  it  a  great  advance 
in  civihzation  that  the  vexed  question  should  have  been 
decided  in  any  other  way  than  by  reference  to  the  armed 
superiority  of  either  nation. 

Milva-ton.  The  only  antagonist  I  feared,  having  in 
reality  gone  so  far  in  agreement  with  us.  Sir  Arthur,  I 
vote  that  we  "  break  up  the  seance^'  for  if  we  were  to 
provoke  any  further  discussion,  I  am  by  no  means  sura 
that  we  should  leave  "Our  Friends  in  Council"  in  so 
much  apparent  harmony  with  us. 

EUesmere.  No ;  do  not  break  up  the  scattce,  but  let 
us  change  the  subject,  or  at  least  vary  it. 

Talking  of  the  marvellous,  or,  as  I  may  say,  of  the 
impossible,  there  was  something  which  was  said  long  ago 
in  one  of  our  conversations  which  has  often  recurred  to 
me.  It  was  a  wild  vagary  either  of  IMilverton's  or  Sir 
Arthur's.  Solid,  sensible  men,  such  as  Cranmer  and 
myself,  would  never  have  condescended  to  have  ima- 
gined it ;  and  as  for  Mauleverer,  he  does  not  waste  his 
time  in  imagining  any  alleviation  for  the  woes  and 
troubles  of  mankind. 

Sir  Arthur.  This  is  a  pompous  but  not  unpleasant 
exordium.  Milverton  and  I  must  be  gratified  at  any 
vagary  of  ours  recurring  to  the  mind  of  a  solid,  sensible 
man. 

Ellesmcre.  It  was,  that  the  greatest  alleviation  for 
mankind  would  be  for  a  man  to  have  two  bodies,  and 
to  be  able  to  change  his  soul  from  one  into  the  other. 


234  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

I  believe  that  fatigue,  simple  fatigue,  is  the  cause  of 
our  greatest  errors.  You  often  wonder  how  a  man  of 
great  eminence,  or  a  body  of  such  men,  should  have  said 
or  done  something,  or  committed  themselves  to  some 
course  of  action,  which  the  most  commonplace  man  at 
once  discerns  to  be  injudicious,  and  far  beneath  the 
intelligence  of  the  person  or  persons  concerned.  The 
truth  is  that  the  commonplace  man  is  looking  at  the 
matter,  free  from  the  fatigue  which  numbed  the  minds  of 
him  or  them  whom  he  is  blaming. 

Milverton.  This  is  a  wonderful  bit  of  toleration  to 
come  from  that  quarter. 

EUesmere.  But  I  used  to  think  of  the  vagary  chiefly 
in  reference  to  myself.  Mind,  it  must  be  the  pure, 
simple,  naked  soul,  if  I  may  so  express  myself,  which 
must  be  able  to  change  its  habitation  at  will.  All  those 
wonderful  things  called  nerves  must  belong  equally  to 
both  bodies.  The  horses  must  be  quite  different ;  it  is 
only  the  coachman  who  is  to  remain  the  same. 

Now,  we  are  often  talking  of  the  pleasures  of  the 
world,  and  criticising  them  severely.  Nine-tenths  of  our 
criticism,  is  merely  a  result  of  fatigue.  We  do  not 
enjoy  these  things,  and  we  wish  them  (at  any  rate  I  do) 
to  be  bisected,  simply  because  we  come  to  them  with 
muscles  and  nerves  fatigued  in  other  ways. 

Again  ;  why  is  it  that  bores  and  noodles  often  have 
their  way  at  boards,  committees,  and  public  assemblies 
of   all   kinds?      Only   because   the    sensible   men    are 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  235 

fatigued  ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  miseries  of  human  Ufe 
that  bores  are  always  very  strong  and  in  excellent  health. 
My  father,  who  was  a  staunch  Conservative,  very  dif- 
ferent in  that  respect  from  myself,  used  to  say  that  the 
Radicals  would  always  prevail  at  any  committee  or  public 
meeting,  because  they  kept  less  regular  hours  than  good 
Conservatives,  and  that  the  latter  would  always  go  away 
in  time  for  dinner.  What  he  said  about  Radicals  would 
far  more  aptly  apply  to  bores  and  troublesome  people 
generally.  They  don't  care  about  their  dinners  :  to  air 
their  crotchets  or  their  follies  is  wholesome  meat  and 
drink  to  them.  But  if  one  could  enter  a  new  body 
when  one  liked,  one  should  be  a  match  for  these 
fellows. 

Milverton.  If  Sir  Arthur  or  I  put  forth  this  vagary,  it 
must  have  been  upon  much  more  serious  grounds — to 
enable  men  to  bear  their  sorrows  better,  and,  altogether, 
to  fight  the  battle  of  life  with  more  purpose  and  consis- 
tency. 

EUesiiiere.  I  think  that  though  the  bodies  would  start 
with  perfect  equality  of  nature,  they  would  soon,  from 
different  uses,  become  very  different.  This  would  be  a 
great  advantage.  My  second  body  would  become  more 
accustomed  to  the  labour  of  pleasure,  and  I  should 
always  take  it  out  in  the  evening — but  there  would  be 
another  and  a  far  greater  advantage.  I  have  studied 
getting  on  in  the  world  much  more  than  any  of  the  rest 
of  you.     My  more  natural  self,  my  first  self,  is  modest, 


236  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

somowliat  shamcfiaccd,  very  much  averse  to  pressing 
what  are  called  its  claims,  otherwise  1  should  have  been 
Lord  Chancellor  long  ago.  I  should  aim  at  making  the 
nerves  of  my  second  body  much  less  sensitive  than 
those  of  my  first  body ;  and  I  should  throw  all  the 
coarse  work  of  selfassertion  upon  this  second  bo  iy. 
Yes  ;  I  see  a  great  amelioration  for  mankind  in  this 
judicious  scheme  of  Milverton's  or  Sir  Arthur's. 

In  these  conversations,  for  instance,  I  should  use  my 
two  bodies,  but  should  more  often  bring  the  weaker  one 
into  play — I  mean  the  more  delicately-nerved  one — in 
order  to  accommodate  myself  to  the  present  company. 

Cranmer.  Perhaps  there  maybe  such  an  arrangement 
as  this  in  some  other  system  of  worlds, 

Mauleverer.  Now,  Cranmer,  do  not  imagine  such  a 
foolish  creature  as  man  careering  about  in  any  other 
part  of  the  universe.  It  is  quite  enough  to  have  him 
here,  and  to  see  what  folly  a  creature  so  constituted  will 
commit. 

Ellesmere,  I  do  not  think  it  necessary  that  women 
should  have  two  bodies.  In  the  first  place,  they  are 
never  tired  of  pleasure  ;  and  in  the  next,  what  a  fearful 
amount  of  coquetry  and  inconstancy  this  duplex  body 
would  allow  them  to  commit.  Moreover,  you  must 
allow,  Lady  Ellesmere,  that  women  are  much  less  bore- 
able  than  men — a  very  curious  phenomenon,  but  an 
undoubted  one. 

Lady  Ellesmere.     With  all  respect  to  Mr.   Miiverton 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  237 

and  Sir  Arthur,  I  think  speculations  of  this  kind  savour 
somewhat  of  irreverence.  We  are  to  be  contented  with 
what  we  are,  and  are  to  make  the  best  of  that ;  and  so 
I  propose,  as  Leonard  said,  that  we  should  break  up  our 
seance. 

Lady  Ellesmere's  proposition  was  adopted. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

A  FTER  luncheon,  on  the  same  day,  we 
re-assembled  in  the  library,  and  the  auto- 
biography of  the  late  Mr.  John  Mill  was  the 
subject  talked  of,  and  it  was  much  disputed 
over.  That  passage  came  in  question  where 
he  says  something  of  this  kind,  that,  in  the 
present  state  of  society,  the  best  men  should 
keep  away  from  it  altogether.  Mr.  Milver- 
ton  maintained  that  it  was  a  horrid  doctrine, 
and  he  believed  that  John  Mill  did  not 
really  say  what  was  attributed  to  him 
He  (Mr.  Milverton)  should  like  to  see  the 
context.  We  had  not  the  book  there,  so 
this  could  not  be  shown  to  him.  Then 
Sir  John  said  as  follows  : — 

Elksvicre.     But  I  thought,  Milverton,  that  you  were 
one  of  those  who    especially  objected    to    the  present 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  239 

state    of    society — that   you    had    fifty   faults   to    find 
with  it. 

Milverton.  That  is  a  very  different  thing  from  saying 
that  the  best  and  cleverest  men  should  abstain  from 
society.  That  would  be  like  the  best  men  abstaining 
from  political  life,  which  would  be  ruinous  to  almost 
any  country.  Let  us  all  endeavour  to  improve  society, 
not  to  abstain  from  it,  like  a  pack  of  stupid  hermits. 

Ellesmere.  Friends  like  ourselves,  who  live  much 
together,  must,  if  they  are  sincere  men,  often  repeat 
themselves.  I  therefore,  being  a  sincere  man,  have  no 
shame  in  saying  to  you  what  I  have  said  at  least  twenty 
times  before,  that  I  have  a  panacea  for  almo^  all  the 
evils  which  beset  our  social  gatherings.  I  put  it  in 
mathematical  language.  Bisect  all  entertainments,  public 
and  private,  and  you  have  done  the  thing. 

Sir  Arthur.  No,  you  have  not.  The  extent  of  the 
crowding  is  as  great  an  evil  as  the  length  of  the 
time. 

Ellesmere.  My  good  friend,  do  you  suppose  I  meant 
my  bisection  to  apply  only  to  time  ? 

Sir  Arthur.  Still  I  have  you.  Your  bisection  cannot 
apply  to  the  time  at  which  the  entertainments  shall 
begin. 

Craiimer.     Yes  :  there  he  has  you,  Ellesmere. 

Elles7Jiere.  Cranmer  is  always  mightily  delighted 
when  I  make  any  blunder — not  that  this  is  a  blunder. 
There  are  corollaries  to   all  axioms,  even  to   those  in 


_Mo  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Euclid,  if  I  recollect  rightly  ;  and,  of  course,  I  meant 
to  put  in  one  or  two  of  these  corollaries. 

Sir  Art/r.r.  I  have  often  thought  that  I  should  like 
to  have  much  influence  with  one  of  the  foremost  leaders 
of  fashion,  some  great  lady. 

Mauieverer.     Fashion  is  a  contemptible  thing. 

Milverion.  No,  it  is  not — to  use  the  contradictory 
language  which  prevails  among  us  at  present.  Fashion 
tends  to  counteract  the  influence  of  wealth,  which  at 
present  is  inordinate. 

Lady  EUesmere.  But  let  us  hear  what  Sir  Arthur 
would  do  if  he  were  the  whispering  gu  irdian  angel — 

EUesmere.  — or  demon, 

Lady  EUesmere.  — to  some  great  lady  who  is  potent 
in  society.  I  am  but  a  small  lady,  but  should  like 
to  know  what  he  wishes  to  say  to  any  of  us  ladies. 

Sir  Arthur.  For  a  whole  year  I  should  wish  to 
guide  her  absolutely  as  regards  the  entertainments  she 
had  to  give.  Take  a  ball,  for  instance.  This  is  really 
the  best  entertainment  in  the  world,  or  would  be,  if  it 
Avere  managed  properly. 

EUesmere.  There  Milverton  would  agree  with  you  ; 
for  doubtless  he  perceives  all  kinds  of  harmony,  all 
upper  spheres  of  thought  and  feeling,  all  discords  which 
are  only  veiled  concords,  in  watching  dancing  boys 
and  girls,  as  well  as  in  listening  to  Beethoven's  sym- 
phonies. 

MUverton.      No,  he  is  not  quite   so  absurd,  but   he 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  241 

sees  a  certain  poetry  and  beauty  in  good  dancing  as  well 
as  in  Beethoven's  symphonies. 

Lady  Elhsmere.  You  will  not  let  this  whispering 
guardian  angel  to  some  great  lady,  instruct  us  as  to  his 
whispers  when  she  is  about  to  give  a  ball. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  would  first  make  her  carefully  measure 
her  rooms.  I  would  aid  her  in  doing  that,  and  would 
show  her  what  space  should  be  allowed  for  those  who 
have  to  sit  down — 

Elhsniej'e.  How  the  polite  Sir  Arthur  avoids  the  dis- 
agreeable word  "  wallflowers." 

Sir  Arthur.  — and  for  those  who  have  to  dance. 
I  would  instil  into  her  mind  the  simple  axiom  that 
when  you  ask  people  to  dance,  you  should  give  them 
room  to  dance. 

Ellesmere.     My  bisection — only  in  other  words. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  would  insist  upon  her  ball  beginning 
early  and  ending  early,  and  would  order  her  to  make 
a  fuss  about  punctuality.  The  hours  should  be  from 
eight  o'clock  to  one.  Those  who  really  care  about 
dancing  are  the  sort  of  people  who  are  not  devoted  to 
grand  and  late  dinners. 

Lady  Ellesmere.  This  is  all  very  fine,  Sir  Arthur,  but 
even  the  greatest  people  are  somewhat  ruled  by  expense. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  am  quite  prepared  for  that  objection. 
I  would  diminish  in  every  respect  the  sumptuousness  of 
the  affair.  I  rarely  assist  at  such  entertainments;  but 
when   I   do,   I    always    see   that    half,   at    least,   of  thl-J 

R 


242  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

sumptuousness  is  entirely  needless.  You  do  not  want 
the  rarest  flowers  (they  are  generally  in  the  way) ;  you 
do  not  want  prematurely  forced  fruit.  All  this  extra- 
vagance is  pure  waste  for  such  an  occasion,  and  only 
tends  to  produce  extravagant  expenditure  in  those  who 
can  ill  afford  it.  Then  I  should  say,  give  great  attention 
— as  Ellesmere  said  in  his  essay  on  hospitality — to  the 
modes  of  adit  and  exit.  Show  your  power  of  organiza- 
tion there,  I  would  say.  Make  it  an  easy  thing,  if  you 
can,  to  come  to  you  and  to  get  away  from  you.  In 
every  respect  my  aim  would  be  directed  to  gain  easiness 
and  simplicity. 

Mrs.  Milverton.  Do  you  know,  Sir  Arthur,  how  it  is 
that  the  hours  for  all  entertainments  have  become  so 
late  > 

Milverfon.  I  have  always  thought  that  it  depended 
upon  the  hour  at  which  the  general  post  goes  out. 
That  being  late,  has  made  everything  else  late. 

Mrs.  Alilverton.  That  is  a  man's  reason— an  official 
man's ;  but  I  think  that  mine  is  much  nearer  the  truth. 
Everybody  is  afraid  of  being  the  first  at  a  party.  You 
name  eight  o'clock.  The  majority  of  your  guests  keep 
away  till  nearly  half-past  eight.  You  then  name  half- 
past  eight :  they  keep  away  till  nearly  nine,  and  so 
it  goes  on. 

Ellesinere.  Upon  my  word,  Mrs.  Milverton,  that  is 
a  very  subtle  reason,  though  it  will  not  wholly  explain 
the  phenomenon.     I  wish  I  were  not  so  shy ;    it  has 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  243 

been  a  great  misery  to  me.  There  you  are,  laughing  as 
usual,  whenever  I  say  anything  serious. 

Milverto7i.  One  of  the  greatest  evils  of  social  life  in 
the  present  day  is  that  the  men  \\'\\o  are  not  quite 
so  young,  who  are  busy  men,  who  are  over-worked  men, 
can  enter  so  little  into  society  without  great  loss  of  time 
and  health.  That  is  what  I  think  John  Mill  must  have 
meant  when  he  uttered  that  strange  and  severe  dictum 
of  his,  or  what  you  try  to  persuade  me  was  his  dictum. 

I  pity  the  hard-working  man  of  business — say  the 
father  of  a  family — considering  the  little  pleasure  he  now 
derives  from  society.  He  naturally  fears  it.  Its  late 
hours,  its  crowded  and  over-gas-lit  rooms,  its  paucity  of 
entertainmeni  for  him,  form  a  great  drawback  upon 
social  life.  Tlie  tendency  of  that  life  is  to  knock  the 
brains  out  of  soc'ety. 

Maidei'erer .  Very  good,  Milverton ;  that  is  a  real 
evil.  I  have  not  sympathized  a  bit  with  all  that 
dancing  sylph  Sir  Arthur  (query  though — are  sylphs 
ever  masculine?)  has  told  us  he  should  whisper  to  his 
great  lady  about  balls ;  but  nine-tenths  of  what  he  has 
said  applies  to  dinners  ;  and  what  you  have  said  anent 
the  terrors  which  prevent  the  best  kind  of  men  from 
entering  into  society  as  much  as  they  would  otherwise 
do,  seems  to  me  sound  doctrine. 

Milverton.  I  would  not  have  you  thinK,  nowevcr, 
that  my  thoughts  about  this  matter  are  given  only  to 
your  late  and  fashionable  people.     To  tell  the  truth,  I 


244  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

was  hardly  thinking  of  them.  I  was  going  very  low 
down  in  society.  I  was  not  thinking  of  what  should 
clear  "  the  cloudy  foreheads  of  the  great,"  as  Dryden 
translating  and  even  enriching  Horace,  says,  but  of  what 
should  soothe  and  amuse  that  numerous  class  of  hard- 
working people  who  carry  on  the  main  part  of  the 
business  transacted  in  that  large  place  over  there  to  the 
northeast.  I  have  often  thought  what  a  peculiar 
melancholy  is  to  be  read  in  their  faces  as  you  pass 
them  in  the  street.  It  is  not  "  a  delicate  or  a  fantastic 
melancholy."  It  is  the  melancholy  which  belongs  to 
an  ardent  and  eager  form  of  civilization ;  and  which,  in 
these  modem  times,  is  the  prevailing  melancholy  of  the 
world.  It  is  not  the  scholar's  melancholy,  nor  the 
courtier's,  nor  the  soldier's,  nor  the  lawyer's,  nor  the 
lover's,  each  of  which  is  so  well  described  by  Jaques  ; 
neither  is  it  his  own — a  melancholy  "compounded  of 
many  simples,  extracted  from  many  objects;"  but  it 
partakes  more  of  the  dreary,  down-hearted,  care- 
oppressed  lassitude  of  the  man  of  business.  It  is 
especially  for  the  sake  of  such  men  that  I  would 
brighten  up  society  and  also  make  it  more  easy  for 
them  to  partake. 

Ellesmere.  Yes,  they  would  undoubtedly  like  to  be 
male  wallflowers. 

Lady  Ellcsviere.  I  declare,  John,  you  are'  a  sort  of 
Mephistopheles,  liking  to  detract  from  and  lower  every 
good  sentiment. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  245 

Milverton.  I  don't  care,  my  dear ;  .  I  accept  his 
saying.  Yes :  I  should  like  them  to  be  more  able,  with 
less  inconvenience  and  with  less  loss  of  time  and 
health,  to  accompany  their  wives  and  children.  Call 
them  what  you  like,  I  have  no  doubt  they  would  have 
great  pleasure  in  so  doing. 

Ellesviei-e.  My  bisection  becomes  at  this  moment 
very  necessary.  If  any  of  you  say  any  more,  the 
present  entertainment  of  discourse,  which  has  hitherto, 
no  doubt,  been  very  delightful,  will  exceed  the  right  limits, 
and  the  other  half,  which  Sir  Arthur  and  Milverton  would 
not  spare  us,  if  they  had  their  way,  would  spoil  all. 
Therefore,  let  us  take  a  walk  to  get  an  appetite  for 
luncheon. 

As  usual,  Sir  John  had  his  way,  and  we 
all  left  the  library.  I  see  that  impatient 
men  always  do  get  their  way. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

A  FTER  dinner  yesterday,  Mr.  Milverton 
thought  it  would  be  a  good  oppor- 
tunity to  see  whether  he  could  persuade  his 
friends  to  resume  the  hearing  of  his  subject. 
He  introduced  the  topic  in  the  following 
manner : — 

Milverton.  Have  I  not  been  very  good  to  you  ? 
You  promised  me  originally  that  you  would  hear  and 
discuss  the  subject  I  had  prepared  for  you  this  Easter. 
I  have  allowed  you,  without  let  or  liindrance,  to  intro- 
duce all  the  speeches  and  the  letters  and  the  essays 
that  you  proposed  to  make  in  that  walk  of  yours  to 
Surbiton  when  I  was  not  present.  Now  comes  my 
turn.  I  do  want  you  to  hear  and  to  criticize  carefully 
the  remainder  of  what  EUesmere  calls  my  lucubrations. 
And  I  seize  upon  the  favourable  after-dinner  moment, 
when  most  men  are  most  ready  to  promise  that  they 
will  give  liberally,  or  that  tliey  will  endure  nobly. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  247 

Sir  ArtJiur.  I  am  sure  that  we  shall  gladly  hear  to- 
morrow morning  what  you  have  to  say. 

When  the  next  morning  came,  Mr.  ]\Iil- 
verton  read  the  following-  essay: — 

It  may  be  that  in  every  planet  there  is 
some  one  spot  which,  from  the  configuration 
of  the  land  and  water  of  that  planet,  seems 
destined  to  be,  if  not  a  central  place  of 
happiness  and  joy,  at  any  rate  the  centre 
for  traffic,  for  commerce,  and  for  civiliza- 
tion. 

Certainly  tliere  is  such  a  central  spot  in 
the  planet  with  which  we  are  most  con- 
cerned. And  it  has  not  belied  its  destiny. 
The  ships  of  all  nations  find  there  a  secure 
haven  and  a  fiiting  place  for  the  barter 
of  the  rich  merchandize  they  carry.  The 
stranger  there,  alone,  finds  himself  scarcely 
a  stranger,  since  all  the  various  peoples 
of  this  planet  furnish  denizens  of  the  great 
city  wliich  has  grown  up  at  this  centre  of 
the  planet.  And  this  city  is  in  itself  a 
nation. 


248  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Pre-eminent  among-  the  buildings,  more 
or  less  stately,  of  this  nation  of  a  city, 
rise  two  buildings  which  aptly  represent 
the  two  great  objects  to  which  all  the 
peoples  of  all  planets  may  be  supposed 
chiefly  to  direct  their  attention.  The  one 
building  is  a  great  temple ;  the  other  is 
the  central  government  building,  in  which 
laws  are  made  for  the  government  not 
only  of  the  nation-city,  but  of  the  various 
countries  and  kingdoms  which  are  united 
with  it,  or  have  been  colonized  by  it. 

Here,  if  anywhere,  must  be  seen  examples 
of  the  wisdom -which,  in  such  a  central  spot 
of  the  planet,  may  be  expected  to  have 
reached  its  full  development.  For  even 
in  the  wisest  government,  when  it  has  to 
preside  over  very  distant  localities,  the 
emanating  force  which  will  keep  all  things 
right  at  the  centre,  may  not  unnaturally 
be  expected  to  have  lost  some  of  its 
energy  before  it  reaches  those  distant 
regions. 

Here,    at    the   centre,    all    must   be   well 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  2\^ 

ordered,  and  the  power  which  has  produced 
and  sustained  this  mighty  city  must,  we 
should  think,  have  been  greatest  at  its 
centre. 

But,  strange  to  say,  it  is  not  so.  All 
the  difficulties  of  life — all   those  difficulties 

which    render   life    sordid    and    uncomel}'' 

are  to  be  seen  in  close  proximity  to  this 
great  central  building,  which  presents  the 
strange  mockery  that  the  great  lords  and 
wise  men  who  assemble  together  in  it  seem 
to  be  powerless  in  those  matters  which  are 
within  their  nearest  grasp.  So  true  is  this, 
that  most  of  my  hearers  will  at  once 
recognize  that  the  nation-city  is  London, 
and  that  the  central  Government  building 
is  the  abode  of  its  Parliament. 

Without  discussing  in  detail  the  many 
evils  and  oversights,  sanitary  and  other- 
wise, which  this  great  building  looks  closely 
down  upon,  we  may  take  as  a  remarkable 
example  of  what  has  been  slated  above, 
the  prevalence  of  smoke  in  the  vicinity  ot 
this     building — a    building,     by     the    way, 


250  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

singularly  liable  to  be  injured  by  smoke. 
On  any  day  when  the  wind  is  from  the 
south,  you  may  see  vast  volumes  of 
smoke  making-  their  way  to  that  easily 
defaceable  building.  You  can  hardly  ima- 
gine that  there  is  a  single  legislator 
who  is  ignorant  of  this  fact.  It  does 
not,  however,  excite  them  to  clamour  for 
any  abatement  of  this  nuisance.  How  can 
you  expect  that  they  will  care  to  abate  it 
for  distant  regions  ? 

Now  the  solution  of  this  carelessness  is 
a  very  easy  and  very  natural  one.  It  con- 
sists of  two  heads.  In  the  first  place, 
what  is  the  business  of  everybody  comes 
to  be  the  business  of  nobody. 

But,  in  the  second  place,  there  is  a  far 
more  prevailing  cause  for  this  neglect. 
That  building  is  not  a  home.  And  this 
cause  of  neglect  is  one  which  operates  very 
largely  throughout  this  country.  In  these 
locomotive  days,  the  upper  and  governing 
classes  have  less  and  less  of  homxC-feeling 
— an    evil    which    leads    directly   to    many 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  251 

errors  and  oversights  in  building-,  and  to 
a  general  indifference  as  to  the  welfare  of 
any  particular  locality. 

If  our  stay-at-home  ancestors  had  pos- 
sessed the  scientific  knowledge  which  we 
have,  as  regards  all  sanitary  matters,  they 
would  have  taken  far  more  pains  than  we 
do  to  guard  against  all  the  unsanitary 
mischiefs  which  rendered  their  permanent 
abodes  so  liable  to  danger  and  discomfort. 
The  effect  of  this  deficiency  of  home- 
feeling  is  peculiarly  great  and  perceptible 
In  those  large  cities  to  which  the  governing 
classes  have  recourse  for  a  certain  period 
only  of  the  year.  The  metropolis  of  every 
country  labours  under  great  disadvantage 
on  this  account. 

Another  comparatively  slight  matter, 
which  yet  must  daily  be  brought  before 
the  eyes  of  our  legislators,  is  the  difficulty 
and  danger  of  pedestrian  movement  towards 
this  great  centre  of  concourse — the  Houses 
of  Parliament.  In  tlieir  vicinity,  almost 
better  than  anywhere  else,   that  plan    might 


252  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

be  adopted,  which,  by  means  of  over-span- 
ning with  light  bridges  the  difficult  junc- 
ture of  cross  streets,  would  render  pedestrian 
movement  for  the  sickly,  the  aged,  and 
the  timid,  tolerably  comfortable,  and  cer- 
tainly assured.  Perhaps,  after  all,  "  sub- 
ways "  would  be  better;  but  there  is  this 
against  them,  that  strangers  to  the  town, 
and  even  inhabitants,  would  not  always  be 
aware  of  their  existence. 

Well,  then  there  is  another  point,  relating 
not  to  comfort  or  to  sanitary  well-being, 
but  which,  nevertheless,  as  it  concerns 
beauty,  might  be  supposed  to  have  struck 
the  mind  of  every  one  of  those  potent 
persons  who  are  our  legislators.  From  the 
adjacent  bridge  a  view  may  be  seen  which, 
even  with  all  its  disadvantages,  is  one  of 
the  most  striking  in  any  European  city. 
But  it  is  deformed  and  disfigured  by  one 
or  two  buildings  of  oppressive  and  revolting 
hideousness.  Those  are  buildings  which 
have  in  some  way  or  other  come  under 
parliamentary  control.      It  would  not  have 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  253 

been  too  great  a  demand  for  these  legis- 
lators to  have  made — that  the  plans  ot 
these  buildings  should  have  been  submitted 
for  its  approval.  In  the  best  times  of 
Italian  architecture,  it  was  considered  that 
the  erection  of  a  public  building  or  a 
statue,  or  the  construction  of  a  fountain, 
was  a  thing  which  concerned  the  com- 
munity ;  and,  in  the  case  of  statues  and 
fountains,  models  of  them  were  erected  in 
the  precise  spots  which  those  works  of  art 
were  to  occupy.  It  might  be  too  much 
to  expect  that  this  should  be  done  now ; 
but,  at  any  rate,  it  would  not  be  too  much 
to  ask,  that  models  of  all  buildings  which 
could  not  be  erected  without  parliamentary 
suffrance,  should  be  submitted  for  parlia- 
mentary inspection.  We  may  have  no  great 
faith  in  the  artistic  skill  of  our  legislators ; 
but  I,  for  one,  cannot  believe  that  a  com- 
mittee of  English  gentlemen  would  have 
approved  the  designs  for  some  of  those 
buildings  which  now  disfigure  the  grand 
view  to  be  seen  from  ihat  la-idge 


254  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

The  desire  for  fitness  and  beauty  in 
architecture  is  perhaps  much  more  common 
among-  even  the  rudest  of  the  population 
than  is  generally  imagined  ;  and  the  plea- 
sure which  a  beautiful  and  proportionate 
building  may  give  to  millions  of  people, 
even  though  they  see  it  but  for  a  few 
moments,  as  they  hurry  to  and  fro,  is  a 
pleasure  not  to  be  despised  ;  and,  moreover, 
it  is  a  great,  though  silent,  means  of  edu- 
cation. The  greatest  critics  (such,  for  in- 
stance, as  Lessing)  have  laid  down  the 
rule  that,  if  possible,  nothing  in  art  that 
is  disproportionate,  misformed,  or  badly 
coloured,  should  be  brought  before  the 
eyes  of  the  young.  They  even  object  to 
caricature  on  this  ground.  To  adopt  such 
a  proposition  in  all  its  bearings  may 
be  unpractical,  may  be  almost  impossible. 
But  certainly  the  converse  holds  good ; 
namely,  that  to  bring  before  the  eyes  of 
the  young  and  the  uneducated  beautiful 
and  well-proportioned  objects  of  art  is  a 
means    of    education,    the    indirect    effects 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  255 

of  which  it  is  difficult  to  over  -  esti- 
mate 

There  is  certainly  a  wonderful  stupidity 
in  mankind  as  regards  the  neglect  which 
they  show  of  those  thino-.s  which  ought  to 
have  most  interest  for  them.  Any  one 
who  fully  appreciates  this  stupidity,  does 
not  need  the  evidence  of  natural  philoso- 
phers to  convince  him  that  man  has  been 
much  longer  on  the  earth  than  the 
chronology,  generally  received,  will  admit. 
Considering  the  inattention  he  has  always 
shown  to  the  matters  of  nearest  interest 
to  him,  he  must  have  been  many,  many 
thousands  of  years  a  denizen  of  this  planet 
to  have  arrived  even  at  the  partial  civili- 
zation which  he  prides  himself  upon  having 
attained. 

That  profound  writer,  Bishop  Butler, 
draws  an  argument  for  the  immortality 
of  man  from  his  comparative  inattention 
to  mundane  things.  The  early  study  of 
astronomy  is  an  instance  which  the  good 
Bishop    adduces    to   prove    his    case.      We 


256  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

mli^ht  agree  with  him  so  far;  and  be 
content  that  there  should  be  some  astro- 
nomers, even  if  they  stumble  occasionally 
over  pails  while  looking-  at  the  stars,  if 
only  as  furnishing  a  potent  argument  for  so 
great  a  theme  as  the  immortality  of  man. 
But  what  I  think  we  must  grudge,  is  the 
enormous  amount  of  labour,  thought,  and 
invention  which  men  have  given,  in  all 
times,  to  matters  which,  though  they  may 
claim  to  affect  society  in  some  degree,  are 
still  of  small  moment  when  put  side  by 
side  with  the  matters  that  are  neglected. 

It  is  always  well  to  descend  from  the 
abstract  to  the  concrete,  in  discussing 
human  affairs :  1  will,  therefore,  give  an 
example  to  illustrate  exactly  what  I  mean. 

Take  the  ballot,  for  instance.  What 
pamphlets,  what  books,  what  leading 
articles,  have  been  written  upon  this  slight 
question  of  detail  !  What  an  immense 
quantity  of  thought  and  time  has  been 
given  to  it !  How  many  nights  of  earnest 
debate   have   been    devoured    by   it    in    the 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  257 

most  intelligent  and  freest  assembly  in  the 
world  ! 

Compare,  all  this  labour,  all  this  thought, 
all  this  time,  with  the  labour,  thought,  and 
time  that  have  been  bestowed  upon  any 
sanitary  measure,  however  deeply  that 
measure  has  concerned  the  real  welfare  of 
mankind.  Observe  how  the  smallest  poli- 
tical abuse  awakes  the  deepest  interest, 
while  the  gravest  social  abuses  are  allowed 
to  grov^r  up  and  flourish  unchecked,  and 
almost  unheeded. 

"I  am  not,  for  a  moment,  contending  that 
there  should  be  stagnation  in  politics.  It 
would  be  a  very  dull  world  if  this  were 
the  case;  but  I  do  contend  that,  at  leas', 
hand-in-hand  with  these  political  conflicts, 
of  which  I  allow  the  full  interest,  the  full 
importance,  and  the  exceeding  amusement 
(for  mankind  does  enjoy  battle  of  all  kinds, 
whether  in  words  or  with  arms),  I  say 
hand-in-hand  with  these  conflicts  should  go 
a  careful  consideration  of  those  perhaps 
more    sombre,    but    certainly   more    nearly 

s 


258  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

pressing,  social  improvements  which  con- 
cern the  daily  life  of  man. 

Now  it  is  no  good  pointing  out  these 
essential  errors  in  the  conduct  of  our- 
selves and  our  fellows-men,  wdthout  endea- 
vouring to  provide,  or,  at  least,  to  pro- 
pose, something  in  the  shape  of  a  partial 
remedy. 

Before  beginning  to  do  so,  one  notable 
observation  must  be  made,  and  it  is  a  very 
commonplace  one.  It  is  rare  indeed  that 
the  same  man  has  an  equal  aptitude  for 
furthering  political  and  social  improve- 
ment. There  is  one  class  of  minds  to  whom 
political  objects  are  very  dear,  and  political 
strife  a  very  grand  and  welcome  occupation. 
They  firmly  believe  that  if  the  political 
machine  were  put  into  perfect  order,  all 
would  go  right.  Such  things  as  sanitary 
laws  seem  to  them  trivialities.  "  Make  men 
free,  and  all  will  go  well." 

There  is  another  class  of  minds  who  are 
inclined,  perhaps  unduly,  to  undervalue  the 
greatest  political  objects.    They  say,  "  Make 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  259 

men  clean,  make  men  comfortable,  make 
men  sober,  provide  for  the  good  government 
of  great  towns,  and  all  will  then  go  well,  for 
you  will  have  wise  and  good  citizens." 

Of  course,  neither  of  these  extremes 
contains  the  whole  truth.  But,  up  to  the 
present  moment,  the  former  extreme  has 
been  predominant,  and  has  had  Its  own  way 
almost  unchecked. 

Now  could  not  some  plan  be  devised  by 
which  these  two  seis  of  aspirations,  these  two 
industries,  should  both  have  a  fair  field  for 
working?  I  venture  to  think  that  such 
arrangements  of  public  business  could  be 
made,  as  would  not  only  allow,  but  would 
favour,  the  just  working  of  these  two 
classes  of  intelligence  for  the  public  good. 

One  of  the  greatest  evils  of  our  present 
system  of  administration  is  its  want  of  per- 
manence. The  most  careless  observer  must 
have  noticed  this  sad  and  prevailing 
defect. 

A  minister  is  placed  at  the  head  of  a 
department,    generally   an    able    man ;     for, 


26o  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

after  all,  these  political  struggles  do,  as  a 
general  rule,  bring  superior  men  to  the 
surface.  If  we  may  judge  from  experience, 
it  nearly  always  requires  a  year  before  the 
new  man,  however  industrious  and  intelligent 
he  may  be,  can  fully  master  the  business  of 
his  department.  He  then,  if  political  aftairs 
are  somewhat  tranquil,  and  the  government 
is  a  strong  one,  may  have  a  y^^^  or  two  to 
make  good  use  of  the  knowledge  he  has 
gained.  But  soon,  alas  !  there  comes  some 
great  or  some  small  political  convulsion  or 
difficulty.  He  is  either  ousted  from  power 
altogether,  or  he  is  removed  to  some  other 
department,  of  which  he  has  to  master  all 
the  details,  and  to  be  again,  for  a  time,  in 
the  hands  of  his  subordinates ;  to  whom,  if 
he  Is  a  wise  and  not  a  vain  man,  he  will,  for 
that  time,  judiciously  submit  himself. 

I  think  I  have  shown  clearly  the  want  of 
permanent  eftbrt  which  proves  so  fatal  to 
good  administration.,  and  especially  fatal  to 
the  production  of  new  and  well-considered 
legislation.     It  is  a  terrible  temptation  to  a 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,  261 

man  who  knows  that,  according  to  all 
political  experience,  his  tenure  of  power  will 
be  short,  to  do  something  which  should  be 
essentially  his  own,  so  that  he  might,  as  it 
were,  leave  his  mark  in  public  affairs. 

The  statesman  has  not  the  same  advan- 
tage as  the  skilful  rider  in  the  circus.  This 
rider  can  refuse  the  hoop  when  it  is  offered 
to  him;  can  refuse  it  again  and  again,  if  his 
own  nerves  are  not  prepared  and  the  pace 
of  his  horse  not  exactly  suitable  for  the  dex- 
terous leap.  He  knows  that  he  can  go  round 
and  round  the  ring  as  often  as  he  likes,  and 
that  he  will  eventually  perform  some  feat 
(perhaps  leap  successively  through  three 
hoops)  which  will  charm  all  the  beholders. 
But  the  statesman  knows  that  his  career  is 
very  limited  ;  that  he  has  not  the  command 
of  his  arena  ;  and  that  he  must  leap  through 
his  hoop  whenever  it  is  offered  to  him. 

That  feeling  is  the  cause  of  many  weak 
and  inefficient  measures  of  legislation. 

Another  great  evil  is  the  disruption,  or, 
at  least,  the  dissonance,  between  those  who 


262  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

are  solely  engaged  in  legislation  and  those 
who  are  solely  engaged  in  administration  : 
to  put  it  ]:»riefly — between  active  and  intel- 
ligent Members  of  Parliament  and  active 
and  intelligent  members  of  the  permanent 
Civil  Service. 

It  must  not  be  thought  egotistical  on  my 
part,  if  I  refer  occasionally  to  my  own  expe- 
rience of  the  Civil  Service  of  this  country, 
to  which  I  have  been  for  so  many  years 
attached.  Well,  then,  I  say  that  it  has  often 
come  within  my  experience,  that  a  measure 
really  prepared  with  considerable  care  by 
members  of  the  House  of  Commons  or  the 
House  of  Lords,  has  proved  inefficient,  some- 
times absolutely  unworkable,  by  reason  of 
some  errors,  or  omissions,  which  the  perma- 
nent officers  of  the  department  to  which  the 
measure  applied,  would,  at  once,  if  they  had 
been  consulted  during  the  progress  of  the 
measure,  have  prevented  or  remedied.  I 
remember  one  particular  instance  of  this 
huge  defect  which  may  serve  as  a  striking 
example.    An  admirable  measure — admirable 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  263 

in  Its  purpose — was  proposed  and  carried 
through  both  Houses  triumphantly.  No 
word  had  been  said  to  the  department  which 
would  have  to  administer  this  measure. 

They  had  not  in  any  way  been  consulted. 
And  here  it  must  be  borne  in  remembrance 
that  the  permanent  heads  of  departments  are 
generally  very  busy  men.  They  are  unable 
to  follow  the  course  of  legislation,  and  for 
them  the  work  of  the  day  is  mostly  all- 
absorbing. 

To  return  to  this  measure.  On  its  being 
handed  over  to  the  department  which  had  to 
work  it,  it  was  discerned  at  once  that  it  con- 
flicted fatally  with  previous  legislation  of  a 
superior  order. 

The  persons  who  were  to  be  benefited  by 
this  excellent  measure  immediately  applied 
to  the  department  to  have  its  provisions 
carried  into  effect.  The  law  officers  of  the 
day  were  consulted,  and  they  pronounced,  as 
the  department  had  foreseen,  that  no  steps 
could  be  taken  under  this  act,  and  that  it 
was  a  dead  letter. 


264  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

I  come  now  to  my  proposal  of  a  remedy 
for  these  anomalies.  It  is,  that  as  soon  as 
may  be  after  the  assemblinij  of  a  new  parlia- 
ment, permanent  committees  should  be 
formed  for  the  carr}ang  into  effect  those 
measures  of  social  reform  which  are  much 
needed,  and  which  have  attracted  a  sufficient 
share  of  public  attention  (for  that  is  requisite) 
to  be  likely  to  meet  with  general  accepta- 
tion. The  chairman  of  any  such  committee 
should  be  either  the  minister  or  the  under- 
secretary of  that  department  to  which  the 
measure,  when  completed,  is  likely  to  be 
submitted  for  administration. 

The  novelty,  however,  which  I  would 
propose  is,  that  one  or  more  of  the  officers 
of  that  department  should  be  added  to  that 
committee. 

Objection  may  decidedly  be  taken  to 
official  persons  being  associated  with  mem- 
bers of  a  parliamentary  committee  upon 
exactly  equal  terms.  But  I  think  that  there 
is  a  way  of  meeting  this  objection. 

It   has   always   appeared    to  me   that   the 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  265 

civilized  world  has  not  made  sufficient  use  of 
those  functionaries  called  assessors. 

The  assessor  holds  a  very  peculiar  position 
of  independence.  He  is  very  differently 
situated  from  a  witness.  The  attitude  of  a 
witness  has,  for  the  most  part,  something  of 
hostility  in  it.  However  honest  and  well- 
meaning  he  may  be,  he  is  always  in  fear 
of  a  surprise.  Sometimes  he  is  made  to  say 
too  little,  sometimes  too  much ;  and  it  may 
be  laid  down  as  a  general  rule  that  he  quits 
the  witness-box  very  dissatisfied  with  him- 
self. Often  he  is  the  more  dissatisfied,  the 
more  anxious  he  has  been  to  convey  the 
exact  truth  to  his  examiners. 

Again,  the  position  of  the  assessor  Is  In 
very  striking  contrast  to  the  committee,  or 
other  general  body,  whom  he  has  been 
called  upon  to  assist.  He  is  not  pledged  by 
any  of  their  former  proceedings,  whether 
those  proceedings  have  been  taken  by  the 
general  body,  or  by  individual  members 
of  it.  He  has  come  for  that  occasion,  and 
for  that  occasion  only.     This  position  of  his 


266  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

is  still  strong-er,  when  attending  a  committee 
which  has.  been  formed  almost  upon  the 
hypothesis  that  every  member  of  it  has 
already  a  distinct  opinion  upon  the  question 
at  issue. 

The  expression  a7nicus  airicB  is  a  very 
happy  one :  he  is  to  be  a  friend  and  not  a 
partizan. 

At  the  same  time  his  position  differs  very 
materially  from  the  ordinary  giver  of  advice. 
The  assessor  is  not  free  from  a  very  distinct 
and  very  definite  responsibility.  The  per- 
fectly free  adviser  is  rather  apt  to  become 
a  wild,  vague,  and  dangerous  individual. 
Perhaps  more  foolish  things  have  been  said 
by  man  in  the  capacity  of  adviser  than  in 
fulfilling  any  other  function.  The  bold  man 
has  told  the  timid  man  to  be  sure  and  be 
courageous  ;  the  cautious  man  has  insisted 
upon  the  necessity  of  a  long  course  of 
cautiousness  from  one  whose  native  rashness 
can  never  be  quelled  for  ten  minutes 
together.  And,  in  fact,  no  form  of  absurdity 
known    to   mankind,  has    failed   to  be  prac- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  267 

tised  by  those  who  have  assumed  the  posi- 
tion of  judicious  givers  of  advice.  Now,  our 
assessor  has  all  along-  the  weight  of  a  certain 
responsibility  Impressed  upon  him  ;  and  yet 
the  responsibility  Is  of  a  very -different  kind 
from  that  of  the  general  body  whom  he  has 
been  called  upon  to  assist. 

The  conclusion  from  the  foregoing  re- 
marks Is,  that  those  official  persons  whose 
services,  as  I  have  before  shown,  would  be 
so  useful  to  parliamentary  committees,  might 
render  those  services  as  assessors,  even  If 
it  were  thought  advisable  that  no  voting 
powers  should  be  awarded  to  them. 

The  foregoing  proposal  would  require  that 
the  public  offices  should  be  made  richer  than 
they  are  at  present  in  persons  of  some  gift 
for  statesmanship — who  should,  according  to 
the  excellent  phrase  of  that  accomplished 
official  man,  Sir  Henry  Taylor,  be  "  in-doors 
statesmen." 

Every  office  of  magnitude  should  have  one 
or  two  of  these  men  connected  with  it ;  men 
who,  conversant  with  all  the  details  of  the 


2  68  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

office,  and  with  all  the  previous  legislation 
affecting  it,  should  yet  be  free  enough  from 
the  daily  administration  of  those  details,  to 
be  occasionally  spared  for  some  months  to 
consider  the  future  legislation  which  would 
render  the  department  most  beneficial  for  the 
public  service. 

It  seems  to  me  that  it  would  be  only 
pedantry  to  object  to  such  an  arrangement 
on  the  ground  of  its  being  unconstitutional ; 
and  that  it  would  bring  into  harmony  two 
things  which  are  often  terribly  discordant, 
namely,  legislation  and  administration. 

Sir  Arthur.  It  is  from  no  impatience  on  my  part, 
Milverton — from  none  of  that  wild*  desire  for  bisection 
which  possesses  EUesmere — that  I  propose  that  we  should 
not  discuss  this  essay  now.  I  want  to  have  what 
Ejy  young  friend,  whom  I  have  told  you  of  before, 
calls  "  a  good  solid  think,"  before  I  attempt  to  criticise 
the  many  grave  points  which  you  have  brought 
before  us. 

EUesmere.  Painful  as  it  is  to  me  to  accede  to  any 
proposition  for  leaving  off,  I  consent  to  do  so,  and 
for  the  same  reason  as  Sir  Arthur  has  adduced. 
Subsequently   to    that   charming   invention   of   modern 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  269 

days,  the  pre-prandial  tea,  we  shall  all  be  in  a  fitting  state 
of  mind  amply  to  discuss  these  nice  questions  of 
legislation  and  of  administration  which  IMilverton  has 
brought  before  us. 

This  was  agreed  to,  and  we  went  about 
our  respective  work  until  we  met  again  for 
the  pre-prandial  tea. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


A  FTER   tea-time   of   the   same   day   the 
conversation     upon     the     essay    com- 
menced. 


Ellesmcre.  I  begin  with  the  beginning  of  your  essay. 
It  was  what  you  scribes  think  to  be  a  fine  piece  of 
writing — so  fine  that,  for  some  time,  I  did  not  perceive 
what  was  your  drift.  And  when  I  did  perceive  it,  I  did 
not  think  that  you  told  us  much  that  we  did  not  know 
before.  I  could  have  summed  it  all  up  in  a  very  homely 
proverb — namely,  that  "  The  shoemaker's  wife  is  always 
the  worst  shod,"  for  we  cannot  expect  that  people  will 
attend  to  those  things  which  are  nearest  for  them  to 
observe  and  to  do.  Besides,  we  all  knew  before  that 
Parliament  was  not  always  very  wise.  If  it  were  so, 
how  unfair  a  representative  it  would  be  of  the  people  ! 
But  then,  how  little  time  it  possesses  for  wisdom ;  and 
the  exercise  of  wisdom  certainly  requires  time. 

What  you   men,  who  have  not   been  in  the  House 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  271 

of  Commons,  never  make  enough  allowance  for,  is  the 
little  time  at  its  disposal.  You  will  talk  as  if  the  House 
consisted  of  a  small  committee  of  sensible  men,  instead 
of  a  large  body  of  652.  To  my  thinking,  the  House  of 
Commons,  taken  as  a  whole,  is  a  wonderful  production — 
wonderful  as  regards  the  common-sense  which  can  be 
elicited  from  it  on  all  serious  occasions. 

Sir  Arthur.  It  has  always  appeared  to  me  that 
ministers,  and  official  personages  generally,  do  not  trust 
the  House  of  Commons  enough.  Now,  in  matters  of 
expense,  the  House  of  Commons  is  really  a  most 
reasonable  body  to  deal  with,  only  you  must  explain 
things  to  them,  you  must  be  very  frank  with  them.  You 
need  not  even  fear  putting  a  high  or  generous  motive 
before  them. 

Milvcrton.  Very  true.  But,  note  this  \  you  members 
of  the  House  of  Commons  say  that  we  official  men  have 
not  faith  enough  in  you.  Speaking,  for  the  moment,  on 
behalf  of  official  men  generally — from  ministers  down- 
wards, I  say  that  we  have  sufficient  faith  in  you  as  a 
body;  but  that  we  fear  the  crotchets  and  the  perversity 
of  individual  members.  And  we  fear  these  things  on 
account  of  the  time  which  it  takes  to  answer  the  said 
crotchets  and  the  saitl  perversity.  I  have  known  a 
minister  give  up  a  really  good  case,  which  he  ought 
to  have  supported,  solely  because  he  saw  that  a  night 
would  be  lost  in  supporting  it;  anil,  on  the  highest 
public  grounds,  he  could  not  afford  to  lose  diat  niglit. 


212  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

EUesmcre.  All  the  mischief  arises  from  a  superfluity 
of  human  talk.  And  here  I  must  say  something  to  you 
which  was  in  my  mind  during  the  whole  time  that 
Milverton's  ornate  exordium  was  being  uttered.  One 
can  foresee  that  Milverton  will,  during  this  Easter 
vacation,  vex  us  much  about  sundry  improvements  that 
might  be  made  in  the  mode,  of  living  of  those  whom 
we  call  the  lower  classes. 

Now  I  am  going  to  put  before  you  one  felicity  of 
theirs,  which  almost  compensates  them  for  all  other 
evils.     They  do  not  have  to  listen  to  long  talk. 

Cranmer.  But  they  talk  a  great  deal  about  the  same 
subject. 

Elksmcre.  Yes ;  but  their  words  are  brief.  Now,  in 
our  own  class,  in  almost  every  sentence  that  a  man 
utters,  you  know  how  it  will  conclude.  But  he  7i<ill  put 
it  grammatically ;  and  he  does  not  spare  you  from 
listening  to  a  single  unnecessary — "  I  have  no  hesitation 
in  avowing  "  [here  Milverton  laughed]. 

Milvcrion.  I  must  explain,  Sir  Arthur.  Ellesmere 
is  alluding  to  an  old  joke  of  ours  at  college.  We 
invented,  I  believe,  a  sentence  for  the  late  Sir  Robert 
Peel.  I  cannot  believe  that  he  ever  uttered  anything 
like  it.  But  it  ran  thus — "  I  have  no  hesitation  in 
ayowing,  whatever  embarrassment  it  may  hereafter  entail 
upon  her  Majesty's  government,  that  his  present  Majesty, 
the  King  of  the  French,  has  talents  and  abilities  of 
a  far  higher  order  than  those  of  an}'  sovereign  who  has 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  273 

sat  upon  that  throne  since  the  days  of  the  Emperor 
Napoleon."  This  was  a  way  of  saying  that  Louis 
Philippe  was  a  cleverer  man  than  Louis  the  Sixteenth 
or  Charles  the  Tenth,  and  shows  what  the  young  men 
of  the  universities  thought  of  parliamentary  speech- 
making.  ^Vhen  you  members  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons talk  about  the  want  of  time,  you  must,  if  you 
please,  recollect  how  much  time  you  waste  in  unneces- 
sary verbiage. 

Cranmer.  I  will  take  up  another  point  in  the  essay. 
Are  you,  or  were  you,  Milverton,  against  the  ballot? 

Milverton.  Neither'  for  nor  against  it.  You  do  not 
understand  Avhat  I  have  been  saying,  if  you  do  not  see 
that  I  merely  took  the  ballot  as  furnishing  an  instance 
of  the  immense  time  and  thought  given  to  a  political 
question,  not  of  the  highest  order,  in  contrast  to  the 
time  and  thought  given  to  any  social  question  of  the 
highest  order.  If  you  refer  to  the  last  report  of  the 
medical  officer  of  the  Privy  Council,  you  will  find  that 
thousands  of  persons  die  annually  of  preventable  dis- 
eases."''' Now  that  constitutes  a  question  of  the  highest 
order. 

*  "  It  is  the  commojii  convictiDn  of  persons  wlio  have  most  studied 
the  subject,  that  the  fleaths  whicli  occur  in  this  country  (now  about 
half-a-million  a  year)  are  by  fully  a  tliinl  part  more  numerous  than 
thev  would  be,  if  exi>lin{j  kiiowlcdf^'c  of  tlie  chief  causes  of  disease 
were  reasonably  well  applied  throujjhout  llie  countiy;  and  I  need 
hardly  add  that,  if  thus  some  125,000  cases  of  preventable  sufTermg 
annually  attain  their  final  record  in  the  death-register,  that  vast 

T 


274  SOCIAL  PRESSCRE. 

Sir  Arthur.  The  great  objecl  for  a  statesman,  and, 
indeed,  for  all  men  of  statesmenlike  minds,  is  to  discern 
what  public  questions  are  those  which  have  a  "  good 
cry"  to  back  them  up,  and  those  which  are  inevitably 
without  a  good  cry.  I  need  hardly  say  that  the  latter 
are  the  questions  respecting  which  real  patriots  should 
most  bestir  themselves. 

Ellcsmcre.  I  once  saw  a  paper,  I  dare  say  it  was 
written  by  one  of  us,  indicating  the  difficulty  which 
forks  must  have  had  in  persuading  men  to  take  these 
useful  implements  into  their  hands,  and  to  overcome  the 
conservatism  which  resolutely  stuck  to  fingers.  I  was 
delighted  to  find  that  in  Mr.  Smith's  excavations  at 
Nineveh  he  had  found  a  fork.  Queen  Elizabeth, 
according  to  pojiular  report,  in  early  life  at  any  rate,  ate 
with  her  fingers,  so  you  see  how  man)-  generations  it 
takes  before  the  simplest  improvement,  that  has  no 
*'  good  cry  "  with  which  to  bless  itself,  must  have  before 
it  can  get  itself  adopted. 

Mih'erhm.  You  must  forgive  me,  for  the  moment,  if  I 
take  another  illustration  relating  to  what  EUesmere  calls 
one  of  my  manias — namely,  the  use  of  the  bearing-rein. 


annual  total  has  the  tenible  further  meaning  that  each  unit  in  it 
represents  an  indefinite  (often  very  1  irge)  other  number  of  cases,  in 
which  preventable  disease,  not  ended  in  death,  though  often  of  far- 
reaching  ill-effects  on  life,  has  also  during  the  yeai  been  suffered." — 
Report  oj  the  Medical  OJJicer  of  the  Privy  Council  and  Local 
Governmeni.  Board.     New  Series.     No.  I. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 


^/.■) 


There  is  one  consensus,  as  the  theologians  would  say, 
prevailing  amongst  men  who  have  studied  horses  and 
the  use  of  draft  cattle,  which  consensus  declares  that 
this  detestable  rein  is  useless,  cruel,  and  productive  of 
disease;  ami,  moreover,  that  it  deducts  largely  from 
the  power  of  these  draft  cattle.  Yet  you  cannot  get 
it  abolished,  or  even  modified. 

Maulevcrcr.     What  fools  we  are  ! 

'Sir  Arthur.  It  is  an  excellent  illustration.  The 
good  sort  of  people  who  possess  horses,  have  no  in- 
tention whatever  of  being  cruel  or  unreasonable  in 
their  treatment  of  their  horses.  But  the  truth  is,  they 
cannot  believe  that  there  is  anything  much  worth 
attending  to  in  a  matter  which  has  no  "good  cry"  to 
back  it  up.  Tiiey  expect  a  cry,  and  are  unwilling  to 
trust  their  own  judgment  until  the  "good  cry"  comes. 

Maulevcrcr.     \\'hat  fools  we  are  ! 

Ellesmcre.  I  do  believe  that  ]\Iaule\erer  would  like 
to  pass  his  life  as  the  principal  leader  of  a  chorus  which 
should  only  have  these  four  emphatic  words  to  utter  after 
any  speech  of  any  of  the  principal  personages  of  the  play. 

Milverton.  The  moral  of  it  all  is  exactly  what  Sir 
Arthur  has  said,  that  the  more  thoughtful  men  amongst 
us  should  labour  to  discern  the  questions  which  pecu- 
liarly require  their  support. 

Sir  Arthur.  Encouraged  by  Milverton's  praise,  I 
will  explain  my  ideas  \\\iq\\  the  subject  more  fully.  It  is 
not  only  that  this  class  of  men  should  favour  and  further 


r76  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

those  great  questions  ^Yhich  I  might  ahiiost  call  the 
dumb  questions  of  tlie  day,  l)ut  that  they  sliould 
endeavour  to  reduce  to  their  just  proportions  the  noisy 
questions  of  the  day.  That  noise  is  often  produced  by 
a  comparatively  small  section  of  the  community,  and 
does  not  b)  any  means  represent  the  good  sense,  the 
convictions,  or  even  the  feelings  of  the  community. 

Maula.'ercr.     What  fools  we  are  ! 

EUesniere.  Now  you  are  unfortunate  there  in  yo'ur 
refrain,  for  Sir  Arthur  means  to  indicate  that  there  is  a 
large  amount  of  good  sense  in  the  cop-imunity. 

Sir  Arthur.  No ;  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  that, 
Ellesmere :  1  only  mean  tliat  the  thing  which  is  ulti- 
mately carried  is  not  the  real  result  of  the  sense  or 
nonsense,  thought  or  thoughtlessness,  of  the  community. 
It  is  carried  by  an  energetic  section ;  and,  indeed,  is 
more  the  consequence  of  good  organization  than  of 
anything  else.  I  do  not  wish  to  advocate  unreasonable 
slowness  of  action,  but  I  must  say  that  I  have  seldom 
known  any  great  political  question  which  has  had  suffi- 
cient thought  given  to  it  before  it  was  settled,  or,  to  use 
a  phrase  of  the  day,  which  has  been  sufficiently  venti- 
lated beforehand.  I  am  no  bigoted  Conservative,  but  I 
always  deliglit  in  those  measures  which  are  called  "great 
measures "  being  thrown  overboard  as  the  end  of  the 
session  approaches — not  because  I  wish  them  to  be 
stifled,  but  because  I  wish  them  to  have  more  mature 
consideration. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  277 

It  al.vays  seems  to  me  that  one  of  the  greatest  errois 
which  besets  each  generation,  is  that  the  generation  will 
not  consider  what  a  long-Uved  thing  a  nation  is,  and 
how  unimportant  it  is  that  any  measure,  however  great, 
should  be  passed  this  year  instead  of  next  year,  com- 
pared with  the  importance  of  its  being  a  well-considered 
bit  of  legislation. 

Milverton.  Our  Statute  Book  is  mainly  cumbered 
with  the  amending  acts  rendered  necessary  by  hasty 
legislation  in  the  first  instance,  that  hasty  legislation 
being  also  rendered  ineffective  by  compromises  made  to 
prevent  the  loss  of  a  single  niglit  of  further  debate. 

Ellesmere.  Moral,  number  two,  expressed  in  the  form 
of  an  aphorism — Always  give  the  best  of  your  thoughts 
to  that  subject  about  which  nobody  else  is  thinking. 

Milverton.  It  is  almost  a  poetic  thing  to  imagine — 
the  real  poetry  of  life — a  man's  silently  devoting  himself 
to  some  social  good  purpose,  in  respect  of  which  he  has 
no  hope  of  fame  or  fortune,  and  very  little,  indeed,  of 
favour  or  support ;  when  he  foresees  that,  in  all  likeli- 
hood, he  will  merely  be  one  of  those  devoted  common 
soldiers  whose  bodies  serve  to  fill  up  trenches,  over 
which  some  ficsh  troop  of  their  comrades,  henceforth 
to  be  honoured  with  ribbons  and  medals,  will  advance 
to  victory. 

Lady  Ellesmere.  My  quarrel  with  Leonard's  hicubra 
tions,  and  I  am  sure  Mrs.  Milverton  will  agree  with  me, 
is,  that  he  is  so  prone  to  dwell  upon  discomfons  which 


278  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

only  affect  the  boily.  Now  don't  be  cross  with  me, 
Leonard  ;  and  don't  think  it  impertinent  of  me,  but  I 
must  say  that  to  us,  you  ahnost  always  seem  to  think  that 
if  drains  were  well  drained ;  that  if  there  were  plenty 
of  air  and  light  and  food  for  everybody ;  that  if 
there  were  no  adulteration  of  food;  tliat  if  tliei't  were 
plenty  of  recreation  provided,  especially  for  the  lower 
classes — all  would  go  well.  It  shows  the  hardness  of 
men,  that  they  think  only,  or  chiefly,  of  these  physical 
matters. 

EUcsmere.  Here  is  a  sort  of  rebellion  in  the  camp  ! 
I  thought  that  the  clergy,  of  whom  you  women  are  so 
fond,  attended  sufficiently  to  matters  which  are  oi  a 
spiritual  kind.  I  suppose  you  want  Milverton  to  put 
down  jealousy? 

Milverion.  I  don't  know  about  jealousy;  but  I  think 
1  could  show  you  how  anger  and  hate  might  be 
diminished. 

Cramner.  I  am  with  the  ladies.  I  believe  that  if 
one  could  have  the  statistics — 

Edesmcre.     — Oh,  of  course,  statistics  ! 

Crajuner.  — the  statistics  of  annoyance  and  misery, 
the  bulk  of  them  would  not  be  found  to  be  physical. 

Lady  EUesma-e.  The  general  stri\ing  to  get  higher, 
the  wild  love  of  competition,  are  evils  untouched  by 
good  drainage  or  non-adulteration  of  food. 

Milvcrion.  This  is  very  hard  upon  me.  There  is  no 
living  man  who  has  contended  more  against  the  evils 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE  279 

and  the  misery  produced  by  competition — the  flies  all 
striving  to  become  beetles. 

EUesmerc.  No,  no:  dragon-flies.  They  do  not  wish 
to  get  out  of  their  own  order, 

Milvcrton.  One  would  really  think,  to  hear  Lady 
EUesmere  talk,  that  women  were  exempt  from  the 
influence  of  this  fury  of  competition.  That  is  certainly 
not  the  case ;  but,  alas  !  I  must  confess  that,  in  later 
times,  they  have  not  been  such  promoters  of  competition 
as  we  men  have.  You  have  made  a  good  point  of 
attack,  Lady  Ellesme'e. 

EUesmere.  Yes :  it  is  a  most  curious  circumstance 
to  be  observed  in  the  present  day,  tliat  women  have 
been  more  sensible  than  men  in  pronouncing  against 
this  all-devouring  system  of  competition. 

Alilverton.  You  draw  me  from  my  main  subject;  but, 
as  I  shall  not  allow  myself  to  be  diverted  from  that 
subject  in  what  I  read  to  you,  I  do  not  care  how  errant 
from  it  you  are  in  your  conversations  after  the  readings. 

EUesmere.     This  is  very  benevolent. 

MUverton.  I  am  ready  to  tell  you  what  I  think  about 
this  subject  of  competition.  The  only  great  check  to  be 
given  to  an  exaggeration  of  competition,  and,  in  short, 
its  grea'est  prevent  itive,  is  to  instil  a  care  for  the  thing 
to  be  done. 

Cranmer.     I  don't  understand. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  do.  Milverton  means,  that  if  men 
were  brought  up  to  entertain  a  keen  sense  of  the  bcJuty 


2  8o  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

of  knowledge,  and  of  the  jiulicious  presentment  of  any 
intellectual  subject,  their  pleasure  would  be  in  the 
perfection  of  the  thing  to  be  done,  and  not  altogether 
in  their  doing  it  themselves. 

Ellcsincre.     But  this  is  dreamland. 

Cranmcr.  You  seem  to  forget,  Milverton,  that  there 
are  physical  advantages  attending  mental  success.  The 
man  naturallj  does  not  think  so  much  about  the  thing 
being  well  done,  as  about  his  having  a  hand  in  doing  it. 
Thence  flow  more  consideration,  more  honours,  perhaps 
more  wealth,  for  himself. 

MilvertoJi.     I  cannot  get  over  that  difficulty. 

There  is  one  thing  that  has  rather  disappointed  me. 
I  knew  that,  as  civilization  progressed,  there  would  be 
more  objects  for  competition  ;  and  I  hoped  that  this 
would  check  the  evils  of  excessive  competition  in  any 
one  pursuit. 

Cfaiimcr.  I  am  again  hazy.  I  can  never  follow  you 
men  fast  enough. 

Ellcsmcre.     I  share  your  want  of  speed,  Cranmer. 

Milverton.  Why,  don't  you  admit  that,  as  civilization 
advances,  there  are  more  careers  in  which  a  man  can 
distinguish  himself?  Now,  of  late  years,  we  have  had  a 
singular  renewal  of  athletic  pursuits.  Being  of  a  con- 
trary opinion  to  the  dons  of  colleges,  I  delight  in  those 
athletic  pursuits.      Not  for  the  ordinary  reasons  which — 

FMesviere.     Oh  !  of  course  not. 

Milverton.     — which  are  prominent  with  most  people. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  281 

I  delight  in  them  because  they  open  another  field  for 
excellence.  One  of  tlie  greatest  objects  we  ought  to 
have  in  view  for  mankind,  one  of  the  things  which — if 
one  were  a  superior  being,  to  whom  the  fates  and  fortunes 
of  mankind  were  entrusted — it  seems  to  me  one  should 
look  to  most,  is  that  no  human  being  should  be  dis- 
heartened— 

Ellesmere  {aside).     Then  they  must  have  no  relations  ! 

Milverton.  — and  that  every  one  should  have  a 
career. 

Ellesmere.  Career  is  a  very  fine  word,  but  not  exactly 
applicable  in  the  way  in  which  Milverton  has  used  it.  I 
cannot  call  a  devotion  to  athletic  sports,  fond  as  I  am  ot 
them,  a  career.  What  I  delight  in  is  that  there  should 
be  more  ways  of  amusement  provided  for  us  all.  This 
Avould  make  us  wiser,  more  temperate,  more  sound  in 
every  way. 

Milverton.  I  quite  agree  with  you  that  there  is  but 
one  great  means  of  suppressing  intemperance,  and  that 
is  to  provide  other  modes  of  amusement. 

Ellesmere.  I  have  always  told  you  that  no  one, 
whether  he  be  statesman,  philosopher,  or  man  of  the 
world,  except  myself,  who  in  my  own  projjer  person 
combine  somewhat  of  the  i;liilosoijlicr,  statesman,  and 
man  of  the  world — 

Cranmer.     Oh  !  oh  ! 

Ellesmere.  — can  imagine  what  a  wild  love  for  amuse- 
ment there  is   in  the   hearts  of  men,  especially  in   men 


282  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

who  dwell  in  northern  climes,  where  the  sun  does  not 
provoke  to  much  sleepiness. 

Only  look  at  this  fact.  Hail  a  cab  in  any  part  of 
London  where  there  is  a  large  stream  of  passers-by. 
You  will  observe  that  several  grown-up  persons,  and 
a  large  number  of  boys,  will  stop  to  see  you  get  into  the 
cab.  That  very  commonplace  tra.nsaction  has  some 
charm  for  them,  their  days  being  passed  in  such  con- 
tinuous dullness. 

Sir  Arthur.  Ellesmere  is  righ^  I  have  noticed  the 
same  thing. 

Ellesmere.  1  object,  in  general,  to  proverbs,  apho- 
risms, and  dicta  of  all  kinds  ;  but  I  cannot  resist  uttering 
this  one.  All  vice  is  but  dullness  in  another  form — 
dullness  made  active. 

Milvertoii.  Without  assenting  to  this  sweeping  apho- 
rism, I  am  so  far  in  agreement  with  Ellesmere,  that  I 
maintain  that  if  j'ou  want  to  conquer  a  vice  or  a  bad 
habit,  you  must  introduce  some  good  one  to  take  its 
place.  Judicious  recreation  is  the  only  sure  antidote  to 
intemperance. 

Ellesmere.  Let  us,  therefore,  now  recreate,  lest  we 
should  eat  and  drink  too  much  at  dinner.  I  propose 
that  we  should  put  aside  all  sensible  talk,  and  walk 
along  the  banks  of  the  river  as  far  as  Teddington. 
There  is  plenty  of  time.  By  suggesting  such  a  long 
walk,  we  shall  get  rid  gradually  of  all  the  philosophers, 
the   statesmen,  and    the  statistical   people  of  our  com- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  283 

pany;  and  for  the  last  seven  miles  I  shall  be  alone  with 
the  athletes  of  our  party  and  with  Fairy.  Dogs,  if'you 
observe,  are  never  tired.  It  is  because  they  never  go 
into  competitive  examinations,  and  never  eat  or  drink 
more  than  is  good  for  them.  Good  heavens  !  If  we 
were  only  as  clever  as  animals.  If  we  could  only  make 
our  reason  as  serviceable  as  their  instinct,  how  happy  we 
should  be,  and  we  should  not  need  in  our  Easter 
holidays  to  listen  to  any  of  JNIilverton's  discussions. 

Sir  John's  proposal  was  received  very 
coldly,  upon  which  he  said,  "  Well,  if  you 
will  .stay  in-doors,  I  should  like  to  know 
what  Mr.  Milverton  meant  when  he  said, 
*  I  could  show  you  how  anger  and  hate 
might  be  diminished.'  " 

EUesniti'e.  If  you  can  do  that,  Milverton,  you  will 
be  a  clever  fellow — almost  as  clever  as  Seneca,  who, 
if  I  recollect  rightly,  wrote  a  treatise  upon  anger  which 
doubtless  made  all  the  Romans  of  his  time,  especially 
his  charming  pupil  Nero,  perfectly  mild  and  placaljle. 
Sir  Arthur  looks  astonished.  He  wonders  how  I  should 
know  anything  about  Seneca's  writings.  But  he  forgets 
that  when  we  had  some  talk  "  About  Animals  and 
their  Masters,"  he  it  was  who  showed  us  a  passage  in 
Seneca,   who    came   to    the   wise    conclusion,    that  wild 


2  84  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

beasts  were  without  anger,  /eras  ird  carar.  In  my 
unlearned  fiisliion,  I  had  stupidly  imagined  that  wild 
beasts,  such  as  lions  and  tigers,  were  occasionally  in  a 
passion.  Oh  dear  !  how  fatally  mistaken  we  unlearned 
men  should  be,  if  we  had  not  the  learned  to  instruct 
us!  I  woiild  not  do  Seneca  injustice;  and  therefore 
I  do  not  fail  to  remember  that  he  said  that  wild  beasts 
might  have  rabies,  but  not  anger — never  anger.  The 
noble  privilege  of  anger  was  reserved  for  man.  Anger 
could  not  exist,  except  with  reasoning  creatures, 

Milvertoii.  Now  that  we  have  listened  to  Ellesmere's 
sneers,  he  will  perhaps  allow  me  to  proceed. 

Will  he  allow  this  proposition  to  be  true — that  no 
passion  can  long  exist  in  the  mind,  which  is  utterly 
hopeless  of  gratification.  Anger  leads  to  hatred  :  hatred, 
in  most  cases,  to  a  desire  to  injure. 

Sir  Arthur.     Not  in  all  cases,  Milverton. 

Milverton.  To  a  desire  in  almost  all  cases  that  the 
hated  person  should  be  injured,  if  not  by  the  hater, 
at  least  by  some  other  person. 

Now  I  contend  that  by  no  exercise  of  the  imagina- 
tion can  you  imagine  anything  which  can  injure  a  man. 

Cranmer.  This  is  a  strong  proposition  !  I  never  was 
more  interested  than  to  see  how  Milverton  will  get  out 
of  this  difficulty. 

Eilesmere.  The  ingenuity  of  sophists,  my  dear  Cranmer, 
as  well  as  that  of  schoolmen,  is  a  thing  which  borders  on 
the  infinite. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  285 

Milverton.  You  must  grant  me  a  future  life  j  though, 
for  my  own  part,  1  think  tlie  proposition  holds  good 
even  without  that.  I  suppose  you  will  admit  that  the 
moral  nature  of  a  man  is  almost  the  principal  thing  with 
which  he  is  concerned,  and  even  that  in  which  most 
of  his  happiness  or  unhappiness  is  to  be  found. 

Now  picture  to  yourselves  the  state  of  any  man 
whom  you  dislike.  I  will  not  suppose  that  such  men 
as  you  indulge  in  hating  anybody.  There  is,  however, 
this  man  whom  you  dislike.  Will  you  devise  any 
mishap  or  misfortune  that  can  befall  him,  of  which 
you  are  sure  that  it  will  be  an  injury?  Ke  is  a 
politician,  we  will  say.  You  wish  his  measures  to 
fail,  himself  to  be  ridiculed,  his  office  to  fall  from  him. 
I  answer  that  these  so-called  mishapis  are  perhaps  the 
best  things  that  could  possibly  happen  to  him. 

You  dislike  him  so  much,  that  you  are  not  sorry 
even  when  domestic  misfortune  happens  to  him — say 
pecuniary  loss,  or  bereavement,  I  answer,  he  is  perhaps 
a  very  hard  man,  and  this  is  the  only  way  in  which  he 
can  be  softened. 

Ellesmere.  I  think  I  liave  heard  all  this  before,  both 
in  ancient  and  modern  stories. 

Milverton.  Yes  :  but  if  you  admitted  the  truth  of  it, 
you  only  did  so  in  the  case  of  those  nicely-contrived 
stories.  You  did  not  see  that  the  moral  was  absolutely 
of  universal  application.  I  defy  you  to  show  me  any 
disaster  that  can  happen  to  any  human  being  which  shall, 


2S6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

with  your  limited  knowledge,  satisfy  you  that  it  is  a  real 
injury  to  that  man. 

Then,  what  is  the  use  of  hating  hiin?  As  regards 
other  affections  of  the  mind,  you  do  not  go  on  desiring 
that  which  you  know  to  be  utterly  hopeless  of  acquire- 
ment. It  is  only  very  little  children  who  stretch  out 
their  hands  to  grasp  the  moon  or  the  stars.  It  is  true 
that  you  might  be  malignant  enough  to  wish  that  a  man 
might  become  morally  worse,  or  intellectually  dete- 
riorated ;  but  you  will  find  that  when  you  are  angry 
with  hiin,  you  never  wish  anything  so  philosophically 
wicked.  It  is  always  some  distinctly  worldly  evil  that 
you  are  good  enough  to  crave  for  him.  That,  as  I 
have  shown,  is  not  necessarily  an  evil,  may  indeed  be 
a  great  boon ;  and  if  you  saw  that  fact  clearly,  you 
would  cease  to  think  ill-naturedly  about  him.  Your 
anger  and  your  hatred  would  drop  off  from  you. 

Afauleverer.  What  Milverton  says  is  very  sound,  there 
is  no  sophistry  in  it :  he  forgets,  however,  that  there  is 
another  side  to  the  question.  What  becomes  of  your 
benevolence?  If  your  malevolence  is  to  have  no  force 
or  meaning  in  it,  what,  I  say,  becomes  of  your  bene- 
volence ? 

EUesmere.  Oh  !  what  a  friend  in  argument  is 
Mauleverer.  It  is  delightful  to  have  him  on  one's 
side. 

Milverton,  I  confess  that  Mauleverer's  friendliness  in 
this  case  is  very  damaging ;  and  I  tremble  for  the  fate 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  287 

that  a  counteracting  proposition,  which  I   shall  venture 
to  make,  will  meet  from  him. 

Mr.  Milverton  got  up  and  walked  about 
the  room.  This  is  a  habit  of  his  when  he 
is  in  any  great  difficulty,  and  I  knew  he 
must  be  much  perplexed — at  length  he 
resumed  his  seat. 

Milverfoft.  Upon  the  whole,  prosperity  is  a  good 
thing,  morally  speaking.  What  is  the  progress  of 
mankind,  what  is  civilization,  but  an  attempt  to  increase 
that  prosperity  which  should  enable  men  to  be  better, 
to  be  greater,  to  subdue  vice,  ignorance,  and  selfishness? 
The  lower  the  civilization,  the  less  there  is  of  nobility 
of  all  kinds,  of  tenderness  of  all  kinds. 

I  contend,  therefore,  that  we  may  exercise  our 
benevolence  to  any  extent  upon  this  general  proposition, 
and  with  this  general  purpose,  though,  at  the  same 
time,  we  may  conclude  that  our  malevolence,  however 
directly  gratified,  may  in  no  respect  accomplish  our 
desires. 

EUesmere.  Shades  of  Duns  Scotus,  Thomas  Aquinas, 
if  present  on  this  occasion,  how  delighted  you  must  be 
to  listen  to  the  discourse  of  a  friend  and  a  brotlier ! 

Sir  Arthur.  I  am  content  to  take  niy  place  in 
Ellesmere's   disesteem    with    these   mighty   Sl.'ades.      I 


288  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

do  not  see  an3thing  sopliistical  in  what  Milverton  ha? 
said.  I  wish  that  so  great  a  theme,  instead  of  being 
treated  in  this  casual,  conversational  way,  had  been  made 
the  subject  of  a  careful  essay. 

Milverton.     I  could  not  have  said  any  more. 

Lady  EUesmere.  John  does  himself  great  injustice. 
I  do  not  know  any  one  who  harbours  less  malice  in 
his  mind  than  he  does.  He  would  forgive  you  directly, 
however  much  you  attempted  to  injure  him. 

EUesmere.  Oh  !  if  one  is  to  be  praised  by  one's 
wife,  the  sooner  one's  modesty  takes  one  away  the 
better;  and  therefore,  I  for  one,  vote  for  discontinuing 
the  conversation. 

The  others  did  not  this  time  dissent,  and 
so  the  conversation  ended. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

T  T  was  a  fine  day,  and  we  resolved  to  go 
out  in  a  punt. 

**  A  fishing-punt,"  said  Sir  John,  when  he 
consented  to  join  this  expedition,  "is  a 
mitigated  evil,  when  compared  with  a  boat. 
You  can  walk  up  and  down  it.  with  tolerable 
safety.  When  it  is  moored  in  some  rushy, ' 
plashy,  reedy  place,  it  is  only  a  bad  kind  of 
open  summer-house,  situated  in  an  unwhole- 
some and  insect-breeding  spot.  Oh,  yes  ! 
I  entirely  consent  to  our  going  out  in  a  punt. 
The  ladies  like  it :  they  like  anything  by 
way  of  variety ;  and  they  become  very  tired 
of  being  with  us  in  the  house." 

So  v/e  went  out  in  a  punt. 

I  am  sorry  to  say  that  Sir  John,  who  was 
the  punter,  very  nearly  got  upset,   holding 

u 


2qo  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

on  stoutly  to  his  punting-pole  when  it  stuck 
in  the  mud,  upon  which  he  declaimed,  in  no 
measured  terms,  about  the  impossibility  of 
being  happy  upon  the  water,  whatever  was  the 
form  of  machine  in  which  you  trusted  your- 
self on  that  detestable  element. 

At  length,  however,  we  were  safely  moored 
at  a  beautiful  part  of  the  river,  not  far 
from  Kew  Bridge,  where  the  houses  at  Mort- 
lake  made  a  group  of  buildings  which  tempted 
Lady  Hllesmere,  no  mean  artist,  to  endeavour 
to  make  a  sketch. 

EUcsmcre.  Well,  this  is  very  pleasant.  It  must  be 
delightful  for  Lady  Ellesmere  to  have  six  admiring  critics 
looking  at  each  stroke  of  her  brush. 

Lady  Ellesmere.  Do  talk  some  of  your  nonsense, 
John,  and  divert  all  this  observant  criticism  from  your 
poor  wife. 

EUcsiucre.  Shall  it  be  a  serious  or  a  gay  diversion,  my 
dear? 

Lady  Ellesmere.  Gay  or  serious,  I  do  not  mind,  so 
that  it  is  interesting,  and  makes  you  lose  all  thought  of 
what  I  am  doing. 

Ellesmere.  Well,  then,  it  shall  be  serious  ;  very  serious. 
It  shall   not  relate  to  what  Milverton   contemptuously 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  291 

would  call  our  miscellaneous  and  promiscuous  essays. 
How  the  dull  always  despise  the  playful  !  It  shall  relate 
to  a  subject  Avhich  it  will  please  him  to  discuss,  and 
which  I  have  expected  him  to  discuss,  seeing  it  is  the 
subject  of  the  day. 

Cratimer.  The  subject  of  the  day  is  the  change  ot 
ministry. 

Milvertou.  Changes  of  ministry  in  our  day  are  not  so 
all-important ;  there  is  a  thing  called  Public  Opinion 
which  controls  all  administrations. 

E tics  mere.  We  had  a  hope  when  our  holidays  began, 
that  Milverton  was  going  to  tell  us  of  some  things  which 
Avould  make  us  more  comfortable ;  but  it  does  not  seem 
to  me  that  his  discourse  has  tended  much  in  the  direc- 
tion of  comfort. 

Now,  there  are  these  Strikes.  They  are  most  uncom- 
fortable things.  I  wish  anybody  could  show  how  they 
could  be  made  less  uncomfortable.  Of  course,  all  you 
men  who  possess  statecraft,  have  thought  a  great  deal 
about  such  matters.  It  is  your  business  to  think  about 
them. 

Craniner.     The  only  hope  I  have  is  in  education. 

Ellcsincre.  Now,  my  good  friend,  that  is  really 
nonsense.  I  have  heard  all  my  lifetime  what  great 
things  education  is  to  do,  but  the  great  things  have  not 
been  done.  The  good  times,  that  education  is  to  create, 
are,  at  least,  fifty  or  sixty  years  off;  and  these  Strikes 
are  a  present  evil,  a  thing  of  today.     Future  reading, 


292  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

WTiting,  r.ntl  arithmetic,  though  caiiictl  to  any  extent, 
even  if  they  ever  will  eflect  the  wonders  that  are  expected 
from  them,  do  not  apply  to  the  present  case.  They  will 
not  make  coals  cheap  for  us  now. 

Milvcrion.  It  is  not  education,  it  is  experience,  that 
is  wanted  ;  and  this  experience  may  be  gained,  compara- 
tively speaking,  in  a  very  few  years.  It  is  true  that  there 
have  been  Strikes  in  all  ages,  but  there  never  was  such  a 
sudden  development  of  them  as  at  the  present  time. 

Then,  too,  you  must  remember  that  in  former  days 
there  were  guilds  and  corporate  bodies  of  all  kinds  which 
made  a  great  ditTerence  in  these  matters. 

Now,  though,  as  I  said  before,  these  Strikes  are 
nothing  new,  yet  in  places  where  they  are  now  breaking 
out,  they  are  new  things,  and  neither  side  knows  exactly 
how  to  manage  them.  I  believe  that  the  experience, 
even  of  a  very  few  years,  would  enable  the  parties  con- 
cerned to  conduct  these  things  much  more  wisely. 

There  is  a  point  of  wisdom  and  of  fairness  to  be  arrived 
at — some  just  compromise.  The  thing  is  not  an  insoluble 
problem.  Do  )0u  suppose  that  if  we  were  to  go  down 
to  the  place  where,  at  this  moment,  theie  is  the  most 
complicated  Strike,  that  we  could  not,  after  hearing  both 
sides,  and  carefully  considering  the  matter,  come  to  a 
reasonable  conclusion — especially  as  we  have  a  great 
lawyer  amongst  us  ? 

What  is  wanting  is,  that  the  strikmg  people  and  the 
struck  people  should  have  had   sufficient  experience  of 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,  293 

strikes  to  appreciate  their  e\i!s,  to  foresee  their  limits, 
and  to  understand,  antl  be  ready,  in  some  sort,  to 
acknowledge  the  larger  and  more  far-sighted  arguments 
which  would  wei;;h  with  us,  the  arbitrators.  I  agree  with 
EUesmere  that  education,  in  its  ordinary  sense,  will  not 
do  this ;  but  even  some  small  experience  may  effect  it. 

Cranmer,  What  do  you  mean  by  those  "  larger  and 
far-sighted  arguments  ?  " 

Milverton.  I  mean,  for  instance,  the  effect  of  foreign 
competition  when  the  price  of  the  manufactured,  article 
is  raised  beyond  a  certain  point.  If  it  were  to  be  so 
raised  for  any  considerable  time,  there  would  be  nothing 
left  but  emigration. 

Sir  Arthur.     What  do  you  think  of  co-operalion  .-* 

Alilverton.  By  all  means  let  it  be  tried.  But  there  is 
one  terrible  drawback  to  its  success  ;  and  that  relates  to 
buying  and  selling. 

I  will  illustrate  what  I  mean,  by  what  we  call  gentle- 
man-farming. There  are  three  hindrances  to  tlie  success 
of  that  undertaking.  First,  the  proneness  of  educated 
men  to  try  new  experiments  ;  secondly,  a  possible  want 
of  vigilant  overlooking  ;  thirdly,  the  gentleman's  inapti- 
tude for  ^buying  and  selling.  The  third  is  the  greatest 
difficulty  of  all.  I  have  known  the  two  former  difficulties 
thoroughly  conquered ;  but  hardly  ever  the  third.  And 
I  will  tell  you  the  reason  why. 

The  skilful,  or,  at  least,  the  successful  buyer  or  seller, 
should  always  be   ready   to  buy   and   sell,     lie  should 


294  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

always  be  in  a  buying  or  selling  mood.  Some  day  I  will 
tell  yo'i  how  the  great  Rothschild  managed  that  part  of 
his  business.  Now  the  gentleman-farmer  has  seldom  this 
aptitude  for  buying  or  selling  of  which  I  have  spoken. 
I  regret  this  very  much,  for  I  think  that  farming  is  the 
most  delightful,  I  may  say  the  most  fascinating,  occupa- 
tion in  tlie  world. 

Craiiiiie?:  But  I  don't  see,  Milverton,  how  this  applies 
to  co-operation.  You  might  have  a  very  good  buyer 
and  seller  in  your  co-operative  association. 

Milverton.  Very  true ;  but  how  should  he  ever 
continue  to  satisfy  his  associates  ?  I  am  going  now  to 
appeal  to  a  somewhat  subtle  fact  in  human  nature,  but  a 
very  assured  one.  After  any  bargain  is  concluded,  there 
is  nearly  sure  to  be  a  reaction  in  the  mind  of  the  buyer 
or  the  seller,  and  often  in  the  minds  of  both.  "  I  should 
not  have  sold  this  for  so  little,"  "  I  should  not  have  bought 
this  for  so  much,"  are  the  words  which  are  very  apt  to 
arise  in  their  respective  minds.  But  the  experienced 
buyers  and  sellers  learn  to  conquer  these  feelings.  Not 
so  the  interested  bystander.  And,  of  course,  he  will  some- 
time's  be  able  to  put  his  finger  upon  a  bad  bargain  made 
in  his  behalf.  Hence  the  co-operative  buyer  or  seller 
will,  after  a  time,  become  timid,  and  lose  his  market. 
This  matter  of  buying  and  selling  is  essentially  a  despotic 
proceeding,  and  rarely  admits  of  constitutional  proceed- 
ings. 

Sir  Arthur.     I  think  that   this  is  almost  undeniable. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE  295 

Nevertheless,  your  friend,  Experience,  may  come  in  here 
too,  Milverton,  and  may  enable  some  cooperations  to 
succeed. 

Milverton.  I  hope  so  ;  but  you  must  remember  that 
the  co-operative  associates  will  often  have  apparently  just 
reason  for  blaming  their  manager  as  regards  some  par- 
ticular case  of  buying  and  selling,  which  may  be  a  very 
large  one.  Ask  any  great  merchant  whether,  in  the 
course  of  his  career,  he  has  not  made  a  good  many 
blunders.  I  think  he  will  tell  you  that  he  has — that 
often,  practically,  he  has  only  had  a  iitx^  minutes  to 
decide  whether  he  will  take  a  thing  or  leave  it ;  and  he 
has  taken  it,  or  left  it,  wrongly.  It  is  upon  the  average 
of  his  transactions,  or  rather  upon  the  majority  of  them, 
that  he  has  succeeded  ;  and,  if  he  had  been  called  to 
account  for  the  whole  of  them,  he  would  have  had  but  a 
sorry  answer  to  make. 

Sir  Arthur.  Tell  us  about  the  great  Rothschild's 
mode  of  proceeding. 

Milverton.  Well,  when  I  was  a  boy,  there  A^as  a 
certain  merchant,  a  near  relative  of  mine,  who  would 
often  condescend  to  talk  to  me,  though  a  boy,  about 
commercial  matters. 

Ellesmere.  Can't  you  see  the  grave  little  Mihertun 
looking  up  into  the  old  merchant's  face,  and  charming 
the  old  man  by  the  attention  he  was  giving  to  this  com- 
mercial discourse  ? 

Alilvcrlon.     lie   said,  "  The  great   Rothschild's  plan, 


296  SOCIAL  PRESSURE, 

my  dear  boy,  is  this.  He  is  away  from  his  office  all  clay 
long,  on  'Change  and  elsewhere.  And,  in  the  course 
of  the  day,  he  makes  twenty  or  thirty  bargains.  There 
is  no  writing  :  no  lawyers  are  consulted.  It  is  all  word 
of  mouth.  And  then  Rothschild  goes  back  to  his  office, 
and  dictates  to  his  clerks  the  substance  of  all  these 
contracts  he  has  made.  You  see,  my  dear,  it  is  not  like 
those  peddling  Frenchmen,  who  would  require  a  great 
deal  of  pen,  ink,  and  paper,  to  be  used,  and  notaries  to 
be  employed.  We  British  merchants  are  upon  honour, 
and  trust  one  another.''  The  good  m'^rchant's  intention 
was  to  show  me  the  superiority  of  our  British  modes  of 
procedure  ;  but  I  now  mention  the  fact  for  a  different 
reason.  Do  you  think  if  Rothschild  had  had  to  deal 
<\vith  these  matters  as  the  buying  and  selling  member  of 
a  co-operative  society,  he  could  have  conducted  them  so 
fearlessly,  and,  therefore,  upon  the  whole,  so  judiciously? 
Doubtless  he,  too,  skilful  as  he  was,  committed  errors, 
whic'i  also,  doubtless,  he  kept  to  himself. 

Time  is  the  main  element  in  all  human  affairs ;  and  if 
a  man  has  to  explain,  and  partially  to  justify  his  blunders, 
a  great  deal  of  his  valuable  time  will  be  wasted.  To 
explain  how  and  why  the  milk  came  to  be  spilled,  is 
almost  as  silly  as  to  cry  over  it  when  spilt. 

EUesmere.  I  am  curious  to  know  why  Milverton 
thinks  farming  such  a  delightful  occupation. 

Milverton.  For  the  most  commonplace  reasons.  •  la 
the  first  place,  it  is  an  out-of-doors  occupation,  for  the 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  207 

most  part  in  good  air.  The  value  of  health  is  always 
underrated  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  several  thousand 
times  in  the  course  of  to-day,  the  following  words,  or 
something  like  thern,  will  be  uttered  :  "  The  first  consi- 
deration should  be  your  health."  Of  all  advice  this  is 
the  most  frequently  given,  and  the  most  frequently 
neglected. 

Ellesmere.  I  am  sure  such  a  commonplace  reason 
is  not  the  chief  one  that  makes  Milverton  admire  and 
envy  a  farmer's  lii'e  so  much. 

Milverton.  Well,  perhaps,  it  is  more  delightful,  intel- 
lectually speaking,  than  even  physically.  You  may  laugh 
as  much  as  you  like,  but  it  is  so.  Ineradicable  in  man- 
kind is  the  love  of  speculation — the  fondness  for  submit- 
ting their  afifairs  to  chance.  This  the  farmer  enjoys,  with- 
out the  extreme  danger  that  attends  speculation  in  most 
other  pursuits.  Each  day's  weather,  a  matter  of  mere 
gossip  to  us  townsfolk,  is  of  deep  interest  to  him.  Nature 
is  perpetually  carrying  on,  or  thwarting,  his  speculations  ; 
and  his  life  is  a  life  of  ups  and  downs,  the  ups  and  downs 
not  being  of  exceeding  magnitude.  His  calling  has 
somewhat  of  the  fascination  of  whist.  There  is  skill  to 
be  shown  in  the  game,  but  there  is  also  an  innr.ense  deal 
of  chance.  Mr.  Clay  once  lost-sixtcen  games  running. 
And  so,  both  in  farming  and  at  whist,  one  can  ahvays 
lay  the  blame  of  flxilure  upon  somethirig  besides  one's 
own  want  of  skill. 

Ellesmere.     Uj^on   my  word    this   is  a  very  ingenious 


2  98  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

eulogy  ;  but,  somehow  or  other  (I  can't  tell  how  it  is)  the 
world  in  general  has  got  an  idea  into  its  head,  that 
agricultural  people  are  somewhat  slow  and  stupid,  not- 
withstanding their  immense  advantages.  The  agricultural 
labourer,  for  instance,  occupies  a  low  place  in  our  regard, 
intellectually  speaking. 

Milvcrton.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  rude,  but  I  do  assure 
you,  Ellesmere,  that  it  is  your  ignorance  which  leads  you 
to  form  such  a  conclusion.  To  speak  frankly,  you  do 
not  know  how  to  talk  to  an  agricultural  labourer.  You 
have  not  the  requisite  information.  With  the  clever 
artisan,  mechanic,  or  factory-hand,  you  are,  doubtless, 
more  at  home.  His  occupation  is  much  more  within 
your  ken.  And  then  he  talks  politics,  you  talk  politics  ; 
and,  eventually,  you  find  that  he  has  a  great  deal  to  say 
about  political  matters  which  it  is  worth  your  while  to 
listen  to.  Whereas  the  mind  of  the  agricultural  labourer 
is  a  sealed  book  to  you. 

Sir  Arthur.  You  will  never  convince  Ellesmere, 
unless  you  can  show  him  in  detail  wherein  the  intelli- 
gence of  the  agricultural  labourer  consists. 

Milverton.  It  may  seem  boastful,  but  I  must  premise 
what  I  am  going  to  say,  by  mentioning  that,  for  many 
years,  I  was  a  careful  student  of  agriculture,  and  even 
that  poor  book-knowledge  enabled  me  to  talk  with 
agricultural  people.  I  will  give  you  a  specimen  of  the 
sort  of  talk. 

George   Swan    (you   remember   him,    in   the   cottage 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  299 

nearest  to  us,  a  lean  man,  with  a  hooked  iiosc)  is 
coming  up  our  lane  at  the  back  of  the  kitchen-garden. 
I  look  over  the  dwarf  wall  to  greet  him.  He  asks 
after  my  missus,  I  ask  after  his,  and  hear  that  she  is 
pretty  well  but  that  Mary  Jane  is  terrible  bad  with  her 
teething,  whereupon  George  adds,  that  he  can't  see 
why  teeth  should  be  such  a  "  terrible  worrit  "  to  us,  all 
through  our  lives — a  remark  which  most  of  us  have 
made,  though  perhaps  in  different  language. 

George  is  one  of  Farmer  Smithson's  labourers.  I 
then  say,  "  So  you  are  going  to  put  the  fifteen-acre 
field  into  turnips  again  ?     I  don't  think  it  Vvill  do." 

"  Well,  master,  you  are  'cute  there,  for  one  as  hasn't 
a  call  to  know;  but  I  says  so  too.  He  is  as  good 
a  master,  is  Farmer  Smilhson,  as  any  man  ever  had, 
and  he  is  main  clever  with  cattle.  But  he  is  that 
obstinate  when  he  has  once  said  a  thing,  nothing  can 
drive  un  out  of  it.  I  told  un  that  he'd  never  get  turmits 
there." 

"But  why,  George;  what's  your  reason  ?" 

"  I  tliink  it's  that  there  six-foot  hedge  he's  so  fond 
of.  You  mind  we  tried  turmits  three  years  agone,  and 
for  a  matter  of  twenty  yards  from  the  hedge,  there  warn't 
a  single  one  that  came  to  nothink." 

"  I  suppose,  George,  the  fly  likes  shelter  from  the 
north  winds  ?  " 

"  No,  it  bcan't  that,"  replies  George  with  a  grin. 
"You  man   have    forgot,   master;    our   hedge   is  to  the 


300  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

west.     But   do   you   mind    that    there  and    thereabouts 

it's  always  the  moistest  part  of  the  fifteen-acre  ?     Them 

beasts  (he  meant  the  turnip-flies)  comes  with  changes. 

Sun    to-day,    rain    to-morrow,    that     brings     un    out 

rarely." 

■    "  Yes,  I  have  noticed  that." 

"  Now  that  there  hedge  gi'es  them  a  change  just 
when  they're  young  ;  and  like  our  cattle,  they  allays  do 
better  when  they  can  get  a  change  two  or  three  times 
in  the  day." 

Well,  then,  George  and  I  go  into  a  discussion  as  to 
the  best  modes  of  battling  with  "  them  bea.^ts,"  the 
turnip-flies.  He  doesn't  "  hold  to "  most  of  my  sug- 
gestions, merely  made  from  book-knowledge,  which  he 
contradicts  by  so-called  experience.  One  or  two,  how- 
ever, of  these  plans  he  receives  with  a  certain  amount  of 
flwour  :  and  then  we  part. 

It  is  difficult  for  me  to  convey  to  you  the  sense  and 
shrewdness  of  his  remarks,  mixed,  however,  with  a  certain 
amount  of  prejudice,  the  like  of  wliich  you  will  find  in 
all  callings  and  professions. 

What  do  you  say,  Ellesmere,  to  the  elaborate  system 
of  pleading,  which  you  had  to  learn  before  you  were 
called  to  the  bar.?  Did  not  prejudice  keep  that  up  for 
a  long  period  ? 

Craniner.     He  is  not  far  wrong  there,  Eilesmere. 

Milverton.  I  maintain  that  the  agricultural  labourer 
is  often  a  man  of  great  observation,  of  nice  skill  in  his 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  301 

handiwork  (I  wish  )-ou  knew  the  difficulty  of  ploughing 
a  straight  furrow),  and  of  powers  of  reasoning,  quite  as 
much  developed  as  those  of  the  men  of  other  crafts. 
One  of  the  greatest  mistakes,  which  you  highly-educated 
men  make,  is,  to  underrate  the  powers  of  reasoning  which 
your  humbler  brethren  possess.  You  cannot  perhaps 
overrate  the  vanity  of  men,  their  natural  indolence,  the 
continuous  effect  of  their  early  prejudices,  and  the  like  \ 
but  you  almost  always  overrate  what  you  are  pleased  to 
call  their  stupidity.  Nearly  all  men  of  average  capacity 
can  follow  even  long  trains  of  reasoning,  if  you  will  only 
put  your  reasoning  into  language  that  is  not  unfamiliar 
to  them. 

Sir  ArtJnir.  It  is  rather  ill-natured  of  me,  but  1 
think  I  could  take  down  Milverton's  excessive  delight 
in  the  coiintry,  and  in  the  joys  of  farming,  by  mentioning 
to  him  that  music  is  a  delight  not  very  compatible  with 
the  life  of  his  ideal  faimcr.  Music  belongs  to  towns, 
and  the  best  music  only  to  the  greatest  towns.  How 
will  you  make  up  your  mind  to  give  up  tliat  joy, 
Milverton  ? 

Milvcrion.  You  have  made  a  very  palpable  hit.  I 
do  own  that  farming  and  music  are  the  two  most 
charming  I'hings  in  the  world,  and  that  one  must  some- 
times be  sacrificed  to  the  other. 

EUcsiiiere.  I  never  met  with  any  one  so  music-mad 
as  Milverton.  Before  now,  he  has  sto])pcd  me  in  one 
of  my  sweetest  arguments — perhaps  an  argument  on  liis 


302  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

side  of  tlie  question— to  listen  to  a  wretched  banel-oigan 
playing  in  the  street. 

Milva-ioii.  I  do  not  know  that  I  could  ever  make 
any  of  you  understand  what  music  presents  to  my  mind. 
I  overheard  Ellesmere  the  other  day  telling  my  wife, 
with  his  usual  maliciousness,  knowing  that  music  is  one 
of  her  greatest  pleasures,  that  it  was  a  most  sensual 
thing  (he  did  not  even  use  that  miti;iated  word, 
sensuous),  and  that  highly  intellectual  people  either 
ignored  it  altogether,  or  pointed  out,  as  Mill  had  done, 
its  narrow  limits.  She  seemed  rather  shocked,  and  to 
feel  that  she  had  been  very  sensual  all  her  life  without 
knowing  it. 

Now  music  presents  to  me  all  forms  of  order,  all 
forms  of  harmony,  intellectual  and  moral,  as  well  as 
physical.  It  selects  out  of  millions  of  particulars — to 
talk  of  its  limited  nature  is  most  absurd — those  which 
are  most  suitable  to  be  brought  together.  It  represents 
the  highest  modes  of  organization.  It  is  a  theatre  in 
which  every  phase  of  human  life  can  be  best  pourtrayed. 
Its  very  discords,  as  in  real  life,  can  be  so  beautifully 
introduced,  as  to  raise  the  hearer  into  some  new  and 
higher  sphere  of  harmony,  hitherto  unknown  or  un- 
appreciated by  him.  I  tell  you  again,  as  I  have  told 
you  before,  that  I  "  hold  to,"  as  we  farmers  say,  the 
words  of  dear  old  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  "  That  tavern 
music  which  makes  one  man  merry  and  another  mad, 
evokes   in  me  a  sense  of  divine  harmony  and   a   full 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  303 

belief  in  the  beneficence  of  the  Divine  Creator."  Those 
are  not  the  exact  words,  but  they  will  recall  to  3'our 
minds  the  passage. 

If  I  had  anything  very  difficult  to  do,  whether  to  write 
a  tragedy  or  a  comedy,  or  to  draw  an  Order  in  Council, 
let  me  hear  music  played  while  I  am  endeavouring  to  do 
it ;  and  much  of  the  difficulty  seems  to  vanish. 

Then  it  is  the  finest  form  of  education  that  has  ever 
been  devised.  A  noble  training  is  accomplished, 
mostly  without  any  pedantry,  almost  unconsciously ; 
and,  observe  this,  with  less  accretion  of  vanity  than  in 
any  other  way. 

EUcsma-e.  Again,  I  say,  we  are  soaring  amid  lofty 
regions  into  which  this  heavy  body  cannot  rise.  I  feel 
like  an  unwilling  and  sceptical  attendant  at  a  spiritual 
seance,  during  which  stout  personages  are  lifted  into 
upper  air,  where,  however,  such  an  unspiritual  person  as 
I  am  cannot  follow  them.  Lady  Ellesmere,  I  see,  has 
finished  her  sketch.  Let  us  dispunt  ourselves,  and 
walk  home.  The  benevolent  Cranmer  will  take  the 
ugly  thing  home ;  or  if  not,  I  will  make  myself  a  beast 
of  burden  and  drag  it  along  by  the  towing-path. 

The  "benevolent"  Cranmer  consented  to 
take  the  punt  back ;  and  the  rest  of  us 
walked  home. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

IWTR.  MILVERTON  seems  to  me  to 
make  a  great  effort  to  choose  his 
opportunities  for  introducing-  the  various 
subjects,  upon  which  he  desires  to  lay  his 
thoughts,  before  his  friends.  Whatever  Sir 
John  Ellesmere  may  say,  I  know  that  Mr. 
Milverton  is  most  anxious  to  hear  the 
criticisms  of  his  friends  upon  his  essays, 
and  that  he  has  a  constant  fear  lest  what 
he  may  suggest  on  these  practical  matters 
should  not,  in  the  least,  be  practicable. 

There  had  now  been  a  considerable  in- 
terval after  his  last  essay  on  Administration. 
He  put  this  fact  before  the  "  Friends  in 
Council,"  and  gained  their  consent  to  listen 
to  another  section  of  his  work. 

This  consent  was  attained  on  the  evening 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  305 

after  our  punting  expedition,  and  the  next 
morning  was  fixed  for  the  reading  of  the 
section.     Mr.  jMIlverton  Introduced  it  thus  : 

Milvertoji.  There  is  no  occasion  for  commencing 
what  I  have  to  say  with  wliat  Ellesmere,  dehghting  in 
line  long  Latinized  Avords,  is  pleased  to  call  an 
exordium.  It  originally  belonged  to  the  essay  I  read 
last ;  but  I  made  a  separation  of  it,  fearing  lest  you 
should  all  be  wearied  with  the  long  continuance  of  the 
same  subject.  For  it  is  the  same  subject.  Do  you  see 
what  I  am  endeavouring  to  put  before  you  ? 

Ellesmere.  Now,  Cranmcr,  do  be  honest,  and  confess 
that  you  do  not  see. 

Cnmmer.     I  shall  say  nothing  of  the  kind, 

Ellesmere.  Well,  then,  I  will.  It  has  always  been 
a  theory  of  mine,  that  in  sermons,  speeches,  essays,  and 
theological  treatises,  you  can  hardly  too  often  reiterate, 
in  few  words,  the  substance  of  what  you  mean  to  assert, 
or  to  prove.  I  do  a  man  a  great  service,  when  I  remind 
him  of  that  fact. 

Milverion.  Thank  you,  Ellesmere.  My  object  is  this. 
I  have  pointed  out  to  you  several  social  evils.  I  believe 
that  some  remedies  may  be  found  for  them  by  judicious 
administration.  I  then  endeavour  to  show  you  how 
administration,  without  being  made  more  interfering, 
may  be  made  more  forcible  and   effective.     With  this 

X 


306  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

purpose,  I  resume  the  discussion  of  questions  which, 
though  partly  poUtical,  have,  indirectly  at  least,  great 
influence  upon  administration. 

Ssr  Arthur.  Read  on,  Milverton.  We  quite  under- 
stand what  your  object  is,  and  how  you  would 
attain  it. 

Mr.  Milverton  commenced  reading,  and 
this  is  what  he  read : — 

CHOICE   OF   MEN  FOR   OFFICES. 

Another  great  evil  in  our  political  arrange- 
ments, and  one  which  has  had  a  bad  effect 
in  all  matters  of  social  reform,  is,  the  limita- 
tion of  choice  which  is  produced  by  certain 
appointments  being  only  capable  of  being 
held  by  members  of  Parliament,  Now,  here 
is  a  real  grievance — one  which  affects  all 
the  highly  educated  and  highly  cultivated 
people  in  the  countr}-.  It  is  a  grievous  fact 
to  state,  that,  when  an  office  of  the  kind 
I  allude  to  is  vacant,  there  should  only  be 
two  or  three  candidates  capable  of  being 
appointed.  We  sometimes  wonder  at  the 
choice  which    an  Administration    makes   on 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  307 

such  occasions  ;  but  we  forget  how  exceed- 
ingly limited  is  its  power  of  choosing.  It 
frequently  happens  that  an  additional  element 
of  limitation  is  thrown  in  by  the  fact  that  the 
person  to  be  chosen  must  be  pretty  secure 
of  his  re-election  for  a  seat  in  Parliament. 

It  is  well  always  to  be  specific  :  I  allude 
especially  to  such  offices  as  that  of  the 
Post-Master-General,  and  of  the  First  Com- 
missioner of  Works.  I  admit  that  it  is 
desirable  that  such  appointments  should 
not  be  permanent,  and  should  undergo  the 
changes  which  are  requisite  in  other  political 
appointments.  Otherwise  we  should  have 
one  mode  of  thought  and  action  too  pre- 
valent ;  and,  as  Tennyson  says  : 

"  Lest  one  good  custom  should  corrupt  the  woild." 

But  this  limitation  of  choice  is  quite  another 
thing ;  and,  if  we  really  cared  for  good 
administration,  would  be  quite  indefensible. 

To  my  mind,  it  is  also  indefensible  that 
the  road  to  the  highest  legal  appointments 
should  lie  through  political  partizanship, 
and   should  be  dependent  upon  the  secure 


3o8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

possession  of  a  seat  In  Parliament.  Here, 
again,  I  admit  that  there  is  something  to 
be  said  on  the  other  side,  and  that  these 
great  legal  appointments  have,  for  the  most 
part,  found  worthy  recipients  for  them.  But, 
often,  it  must  have  been  a  great  derange- 
ment of  the  studies  and  pursuits  for  which 
such  men  have  been  most  fit,  that  they 
should  have  been  obliged  to  seek  for  the 
favour  of  some  electoral  body,  before  their 
great  legal  attainments  could  have  had  full 
scope.  I  believe  that  the  difficulty  of  ob- 
taining sound  and  deliberate  legal  reform, 
has  been  much  increased  by  the  necessity, 
which  the  greatest  lawyers  have  felt  them- 
selves under,  of  acquiring  political  favour 
with  some  body  of  constituents.  And  we 
cannot  say  that,  without  making  some  great 
and  remarkable  exceptions,  lawyers  have 
shown  themselves  to  be  able  statesmen.  In 
the  case  of  these  exceptions,  I  think  it  may 
almost  always  be  said  that  there  was  more 
in  the  man  of  the  statesman  than  of  the 
lawyer.     Much  as  I  wonder  that  the  general 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  309 

body  of  educated  and  cultivated  men  have 
not  protested  in  the  case  of  certain  civil 
appointments,  that  the  choice  should  be 
limited  to  members  of  Parliament,  I  wonder 
more  that  the  legal  profession,  perhaps  the 
most  powerful  body  in  the  community,  has 
not  recalcitrated  against  the  practice  of 
its  principal  offices  being  conferred  upon 
those  who  have  had  the  good  fortune,  or 
the  political  skill,  to  meet  with  obliging 
constituencies. 

An  objection  which  will  be  taken  imme- 
diately, by  practical  men,  to  the  foregoing 
observations,  is  this — that  every  great  de- 
partment, even  though  its  character  and 
its  objects  are  not  in  the  remotest  degree 
political,  must  yet  have  the  means  of 
making  itself  heard  in  Parliament,  and,  to 
use  the  common  phrase  of  the  day,  be 
represented  there.  I  feel  deeply  the  force 
of  this  objection,  but  must  contend  that 
the  evil  is  not  so  great  as  that  of  the 
limitation  of  choice  which  I  have  described. 

Moreover,  a  remedy  might  be  provided  to 


3IO  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

meet  this  difficulty.  It  might  be  admitted 
that  persons  holding  the  appointments  I 
have  alluded  to,  should  have  an  official 
seat  In  Parliament,  and  be  able  to  declare 
the  policy  of  their  department,  in  the  House 
of  Commons,  or  in  the  House  of  Lords. 

This  would  be  a  great  change  in  the 
present  system,  but  I  believe  that  it  is  a 
change  which,  in  the  course  of  events,  will 
become  necessar}\  It  is  not  altogether 
unwise  to  see  what  we  can  borrow  from  the 
wisdom  of  other  nations ;  and  one  of  the 
good  points,  as  it  appears  to  me,  of  the 
American  constitution,  is,  that  the  ministers 
are  independent  of  parliamentary  position. 
We  could  probably  improve  upon  their 
practice  in  this  respect.  We  could  still 
Insist  upon  the  principal  political  person- 
ages obtaining,  and  being  able  to  retain, 
the  favour  of  individual  constituencies. 
There  are  offices,  however,  which  we  might 
judiciously  make  somewhat  independent  of 
this  favour. 

I    fear,    that,    with    the    general    political 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,      '  311 

world,  it  Is  hardly  perceived  how  much  more 
difficult  government  has  become.  Subse- 
quently to  the  days  of  our  ancestors  (take 
the  times  of  George  III.,  for  Instance),  the 
Press  has  risen  Into  great  power — and 
deservedly  Into  great  power.  There  are 
now  a  number  of  persons  of  much  political 
ability,  who  devote  all  their  leisure  to  a 
real  study  of  political  questions.  They  write 
from  day  to  day  their  views  upon  these 
questions,  and  they  have  the  advantage  of 
possessing  an  immense  audience.  Some- 
times they  are  most  serviceable  to  states- 
men :  sometimes  they  are  an  embarrassment, 
on  account  of  their  not  possessing  all  the 
facts  which  should  enable  them  to  come  to 
a  right  judgment  upon  urgent  political 
affairs. 

The  main  point  I  want  to  show  forth,  is, 
that  they  constitute  a  great  power,  over 
which,  as  a  general  rule,  statesmen  have 
very  little  hold.  To  meet  this  power — even 
to  make  the  best  use  of  its  Intelligence — It 
is  needful  that  government,  speaking  of  It 


312  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

in  the  abstract,  should  have  new  facilities 
granted  to  it,  to  meet  the  increase  of  force 
in  other  and  not  always  friendly  powers. 

Would  it  not  be  well,  under  these  circum- 
stances, that  there  should  be  a  few  official 
seats  in  Parliament  ?  We  need  have  no  fear 
of  a  ministry  oppressing-  us  by  means  of 
these  seats,  which  might  be  limited  to  some 
such  number  as  ten.  If  there  were  any 
such  fear,  it  might  be  still  further  controlled 
by  the  holders  of  these  seats  being  deprived 
of  the  powder  of  voting. 

There  can  hardly  be  any  doubt  that  the 
various  administrations  which  have  intro- 
duced measures  of  electoral  reform,  have, 
upon  the  whole,  acted  wisely.  It  was  im- 
possible that  the  state  of  things  previous  to 
the  first  Reform  Bill  could  be  maintained. 
Nevertheless,  all  thoughtful  politicians  fore- 
saw then,  and  foresee  now,  that  these 
electoral  reforms  were  not  all  gain.  For 
a  man  to  become  a  statesman,  it  is  neces- 
sary that  he  should  have  some  training 
for  the  part ;   and,  no  doubt,  it  was  a  great 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  313 

advantage,  In  former  times,  that  a  leading- 
minister  could  look  out  for  young-  men  of 
much  ability,  who  showed  great  aptitude  for 
political  or  administrative  work;  and  when, 
by  means  of  that  ungainly  thing  called  "  a 
Rotten  Borough,"  he  could  at  once  place  a 
young  man  In  a  position  which  would  show 
whether  this  aptitude  would  be  developed, 
and  whether  there  was  in  the  young  man  the 
making  of  a  statesman.  The  advantage  thus 
possessed  by  a  powerful  minister — an  advan- 
tage much  more  conducive  to  the  welfare  of 
the  State  than  to  his  own  benefit — may  be 
seen  by  the  following  consideration.  It  is 
not  for  the  mere  acquisition  of  suitable  know- 
ledge that  it  is  desirable  to  introduce  men 
early  into  political  life.  A  far  greater  gain 
results  from  this  early  training — namely, 
the  habit  of  decisiveness,  and  the  power 
of  enduring  great  and  sudden  responsi- 
bility. After  a  certain  time  of  life,  these 
habits  are  rarely  acquired,  especially  in 
any  new  form  of  thought  or  endeavour, 
although   the  person   in  question   may  have 


314  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

acquired  these  habits  in   another  sphere  of 
action. 

The  representation  of  the  electors  of  this 
country  appears  likely  to  fall  more  and  more 
into  the  hands  of  middle-aged  men,  who 
have  acquired  some  fame,  or  some  local 
influence,  from  their  success  in  other  pur- 
suits than  those  of  politics.  We  can  easily 
see  the  disadvantage  of  this  state  of  things 
if  it  prevailed  in  other  branches  of  human 
effort.  An  army  officered  by  men  Vvho 
had  obtained  the  suffrages  of  their  fellow- 
countrymen  would  never  fight,  or,  at  least, 
would  never  be  led  to  victor)\  And  it  is 
a  vain  dream  to  suppose  that  good  leaders 
for  political  action  will  often  be  found  in 
the  ranks  of  those  w^ho  have  not  made 
politics  the  business  of  their  lives.  It  must 
be  obvious  to  every  one,  that  there  is  some 
prospect  of  this  danger  being  realised  ;  and 
it  is  a  ver}''  serious  danger.  If,  therefore, 
by  any  plan,  however  apparently  anomalous, 
any  safeguards  can  be  provided  to  counter- 
act the  evil,   the  plan   may  be  worth  con- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  315 

siderlng.  The  one  at  present  proposed 
would  enable  an  administration  to  produce 
before  the  country  men  who  might  possess 
all  the  qualifications  for  statesmanship,  ex- 
cept that  conv^entional  one  which  insists  upon 
their  being-  hereditary  peers,  or  their  being 
able  to  find  a  constituency  which  should 
at  once  recognize  their  merits,  and  resist 
all  local  influence,  in  order  to  bring  those 
merits  into  prominence.  You  cannot  con- 
ceive that  this  will  ever  be  done,  because, 
according  to  my  hypothesis,  these  candi- 
dates are  to  be  young  men.  A  minister 
may  be  able  to  judge  of  the  aptitude  for 
statesmanship  of  a  Chatham,  a  Pitt,  a  Fox, 
a  Sheridan,  a  Burke,  a  Wyndam,  a  Glad- 
stone, or  a  Disraeli,  while  he  is  yet  a  youth, 
perhaps  fresh  from  College.  But  a  constitu- 
ency is  likely  to  ask  the  severe  Napoleonic 
question,  What  has  he  done?  and,  Why 
should  we  give  our  suffrages  to  an  unknown 
and  an  untried  man  ?  Hence  there  comes 
a  dearth  of  youthful  statesmen.  And  it  is 
by   no    means   easy  to   show  how   this  void 


3i6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

can  be  replenished,  unless  we  are  prepared 
to  adopt  some  plan  of  the  kind  I  have 
ventured  to  recommend,  or  unless  \ve  resort 
to  those  modes  of  election  which  have  been, 
somewhat  superciliously,  called  "  Fancy 
Franchises." 

The  foregoing  considerations  may  appear 
to  have  little  to  do  with  our  main  subject ; 
but  the  truth  is,  that  social  reforms  of  a 
delicate  and  difficult  kind  require,  far  more 
than  other  reforms,  the  existence  of  an 
early-trained  and  well-educated  body  of 
statesmen. 


Milverion.  I  have  now  laid  before  you  one  division 
of  my  subject.  Previously,  however,  to  concluding 
this  reading  of  mine,  I  should  like  to  put  before  you 
another  branch  of  it.  This  is  not  in  immediate 
connection  with  what  I  have  just  read,  but  is  con- 
sequent upon  it.  We  have  been  considering  the 
question  of  Parliamentary  Representation.  Quite  as 
important  in  this  free  country  is  the  question  of  Local 
Government.  Are  you  tired,  or  will  you  hear  now  what 
I  have  to  say  upon  that  ? 

Sir  Arthur.     We  are  ready  to  hear  it 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  317 

Mr.  Mllverton  then  read  as  follows  : — • 

LOCAL    GOVERNMENT. 

The  unit  of  local  government,  is  the  thing 
to  be  sought  for.  In  an  old  country,  such 
as  ours,  there  is  exceeding  difficulty  in 
getting  at  this  unit,  and  clearly  defining  it. 
If  this  unit  could  be  a  municipal  corporation, 
great  expense  would  be  saved — a  point  of 
immense  importance,  considering  the  heavy 
pressure  which  local  rates  and  taxes  bring 
upon  poor  householders.  Moreover,  the 
adoption  of  this  unit  would  bring  much 
clearness  and  distinctness  into  local  admi- 
nistration. 

I  am  bound,  however,  to  give  you  the 
other  side  of  the  question.  It  is  doubtful 
whether  such  a  body  would  always  well 
fulfil  the  functions  now  performed  by  Im- 
provement Commissioners,  Road  Trustees, 
Burial  Boards,  and  Sanitary  Committees — 
the  members  of  which  bodies  are  chosen  (I 
believe  by  the  ratepayers)  on  account  oi 
special   knowledge,  or  of  suj)j)oscd  especial 


3i8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

interest  as  regards  the  respective  subjects 
in  question. 

Again,  you  are  sure  to  ask  me,  what  Is 
to  become  of  the  purely  rural  districts  ?  We 
cannot  expect  municipal  corporations  to  take 
any  care  of  them. 

With  regard  to  them,  I  look  forward  to 
a  great  improvement,  which  I  trust  will  by 
degrees  be  made,  In  county  administration. 
I  win  tell  you  how  the  whole  thing  presents 
itself  to  my  mind.  The  original  unit  is  the 
parish,  all  the  parishes  being  originally,  we 
will  suppose,  subject  to  the  administration  of 
the  county.  Then  there  comes  an  agglo- 
meration of  people  upon  one  spot.  Peculiar 
necessities  for  special  administration  arise 
at  that  spot;  and,  If  the  number  of  people 
is  sufficiently  large,  a  municipal  corporation 
ought  to  be  formed. 

The  plan  adopted  In  a  neighbouring 
country,  of  a  high  officer  of  Govern- 
ment being-  entrusted  with  the  super- 
intendence of  all  the  affairs  of  an  exten- 
sive   district,    seems    a    very    feasible  one. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  319 

Considerable  disadvantages  have,  how- 
ever, resulted  from  that  species  of  local 
government ;  but  this  may  be  from  the 
peculiar  nature  of  the  people,  and  might 
not  apply  to  a  countr}'  where  liberty  is  well 
understood. 

I  return  to  the  subject  of  municipal  cor- 
porations. There  is  no  doubt,  I  think,  that 
these  would  be  the  best  units  of  local 
government  for  towns,  if  only  we  could 
be  sure  that  municipal  officers  w'ould  be 
selected,  without  any  reference  to  party  ties, 
and  would  be  the  really  efficient  men  in 
their  separate  localities.  But,  if  a  man 
is  to  be  chosen  as  a  member  of  a  Sanitary 
Committee,  or  to  be  made  an  Improvement 
Commissioner,  merely  because  he  is  an 
alderman  or  a  common-councilman,  then 
the  thing  will  fail. 

We  come  to  the  original  difficulty  in  all 
human  affairs,  namely,  the  choice  of  men — 
that  choice  being  very  nearly  as  imj^ortant 
in  small  civic  matters  as  in  imperial  affairs. 

Great   fault   is  now  being  found  Vvitli   the 


320  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

management  of  railway  affairs.  The  chief 
source  of  this  mismanagement  is  that  the 
choice  of  a  governing  body  is  restricted 
to  those  who  possess  money  qualifications 
which  do  not,  by  any  means,  ensure  the 
possession  of  other  greater  qualifications. 

If,  as  occurs  in  fables,  mankind  could 
ask  and  receive  some  boon  from  the  gods, 
the  best  thing  perhaps  to  be  asked  would  be 
that  they  should  understand  their  fellow- 
men.  Often,  now,  those  are  entrusted  with 
this  choice  who  have  not  the  slightest 
faculty  for  making  it.  Talk  of  their  under- 
standing men,  they  would  not  even  under- 
stand chessmen  !  I  do  not  mean  this  as  a 
jest,  but  as  a  reality.  You  find  persons 
high  in  power  who  never  seem  able  to 
perceive  the  speciality  of  any  person  or 
thing  they  seek  to  use  ;  and  are  incapable 
of  fully  realising  that  the  knight  cannot  do 
what  the  bishop  can,  and  vice  versa. 

I  have  hitherto  said  nothinsf  about  those 
details  of  sanitary  legislation,  which,  what- 
ever form  of  local  government  may  prevail, 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  321 

must  be  carefully  considered.  It  is  a  thorny 
part  of  the  subject,  cumbered  with  many 
difficulties.  I  will  -tell  you  what  I  think 
would  be  the  best  plan  ;  and  then,  hereafter, 
it  might  be  seen  how  near  to  that  plan  the 
administration  could  be  arranged. 

In  the  first  place  two  things  are  wanted, 
local  action  and  central  supervision.  Much 
depends  upon  the  size  of  what  we  will  call 
"  health  districts."  They  should  not  be  too 
large  for  the  effectual  work  of  one  Health 
Officer :  they  should  not  be  so  small  as  that 
the  officer  chosen  should  be  much  under  the 
control  of  local  influence. 

As  regards  the  choice  of  these  officers,  I 
would  not  restrict  it  to  any  profession.  I 
have  known  men  who  would  be  singularly 
fitted  to  become  Health  Officers,  who  were 
not  doctors  or  lawyers,  nor  belonging  to  any 
learned  profession. 

You  see,  after  all,  the  questions  to  be 
dealt  with  are  seldom  of  a  very  complex 
character,  nor  are  they  such  as  require  that 
peculiar    knowledge   which    is    only   to    be 

Y 


2,22  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

fully  qainecl  in  a  profession.  In  this  matter, 
as  in  most  others,  the  great  thing  is  to 
get  a  man  who  has  the  art  of  managing, 
who  ha«  tact,  and  energy,  and  pleasantness 
of  behaviour.  A  man  of  that  kind,  endowed 
as  he  will  be  with  the  powers  of  persua- 
sion, can  sometimes  carry  through  a  difficult 
plan  which  the  most  scientific  man  in  the 
world,  without  these  gifts,  would  ignomi- 
niously  fail  in  carrying. 

Then  there  comes  a  point  for  discussion 
which  is  a  vital  one.  It  is  never  well  that 
there  should  be  any  employment  for  men 
in  which  there  is  no  opportunity  of  rising. 
If  you  give  these  appointments  in  all  cases 
to  persons  who  have  other  employments,  if 
you  make  the  Health  Office  a  mere  adjunct 
to  some  other  employment,  you  run  a  great 
chance  of  its  being  treated  by  him  as  a 
mere  adjunct,  and  occupying  only  the  spare 
moments  of  his  thought.  You  tend  to  make 
him,  in  that  matter,  an  amateur,  rather  than 
a  professional. 

But  how  Is  this  scheme  of  promotion  to  be 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  323 

provided  for?  There  are  two  ways.  One 
is,  that  even  in  the  local  administration, 
there  should  be  offices  of  larger  sway  and 
of  a  more  extensive  district  than  those  now 
entrusted  to  the  ordinary  Officer  of  Health 
of  the  primary  class.  This  might  be  effected 
by  several  of  the  primary  districts  being 
under  the  supervision  of  a  higher  officer, 
appointed,  we  will  say,  by  the  County. 

In  addition  to  this,  there  might  be  pro- 
motion to  the  offices  of  Inspectors  of  tl^ie 
Central  Board,  who  should  be  men  of  much 
skill  and  capacity.  Into  this  body,  as 
vacancies  occurred,  those  persons  might  be 
introduced  who  had  distinguished  them- 
selves in  local  administration. 

I  have  now  put  before  you  a  scheme 
which,  I  think,  would  have  the  elements  of 
good  work  in  it ;  but,  of  course,  one  can 
seldom  expect  that  an  abstract  scheme  of 
this  kind  wiil  be  at  once  adopted.  The 
object  should  be  to  wurk  uj)  to  it,  or  to  some 
better  plan,  as  closely  as  the  circumstances 
of  the   time  will   allow   you.       One    ihould 


324  SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  . 

always  have  a  distinct  plan  of  some  kind 
in  one's  view.  The  British  public  will 
seldom  permit  of  its  being  adopted  at  once, 
but  you  have  to  come  to  it  by  degrees. 

Another  matter,  in  reference  to  this  sub- 
ject, seems  to  me  of  great  importance.  I 
distrust  the  agglomeration  of  offices  and 
functions  which  has  been  so  frequently 
effected  in  modern  times.  It  seems  to  me 
that  the  health  of  the  nation  is  a  sub- 
ject sufficiently  large  in  itself  to  require 
a  separate  branch  of  administration,  with 
a  minister  at  the  head  of  it;  and  that 
it  has  been  unwise  to  add  this  branch 
to  the  Presidency  of  the  Poor- Law  Board. 
The  functions  seem  to  be  essentially  dif- 
ferent. In  the  one  case,  judicious  re- 
straint appears  to  be  the  principal  func- 
tion :  in  the  other,  judicious  enlargement 
and  development  of  action.  I  should 
imagine  that  it  would  rarely  happen  that 
any  one  man  would  possess  the  requisite 
qualifications  for  filling,  as  a  minister,  both 
these  high  posts  of  president  of  the  Poor- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  325 

Law-Board,  and  president  of  my  Imaginary 
Board  of  Health.  But,  Indeed,  the  allot- 
ment of  official  work  Is,  at  present,  very 
ill-managed  throughout  most  of  the  depart- 
ments of  the  State. 

Again  there  was  a  demand  from  all  the 
persons  present,  that  there  should  be  no 
conversation  now,  and  that  time  should  be 
given  them  to  make  up  their  minds  as 
to  what  they  should  comment  upon,  as 
regards  the  various  topics  which  Mr.  Mil- 
verton  had  submitted  to  them  in  the  fore- 
2;-oing  section  of  his  work. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

T  N  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  came  the 
conversation  upon  the  foregoing-  essay. 

EUesma-e.  Do  you  remember  what  I  said  a  long 
time  ago  about  tbe  necessity  for  the  trumpet?  I  forget 
the  exact  words  ;  but  they  were  to  this  effect :  If  a 
man  has  a  force  which  is  represented  by  ten,  and  that 
man  wants  to  effect  something,  he  may  devote  three 
parts  of  this  force  to  doing  the  thing,  but  must  reserve 
the  other  seven-tenths  to  blowing  the  trumpet  about  it 
when  it  is  done. 

Milverton.     I  recollect  sometning  of  the  kind. 

Eltesmcre.  Well,  this  great  saying  applies  still  more 
to  writing  than  to  doing.  I  don't  say  that  any  of  your 
suggestions  are  absurd.  Some  of  them,  indeed,  appeared 
to  me  to  be  practical  and  practicable.  But  I  do  say 
that  they  will  never  be  carried  into  effect,  unless  they 
are  blown  about  by  alien  trumpets,  as  well  as  by  your 
own. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  327 

Sir  Arthur.  All  that  you  mean,  Ellcsmere,  is  tliat, 
for  the  most  part,  it  is  a  different  set  of  men  who 
suggest  things,  from  those  who  carry  them  into  effect. 

Cranmer.  We  all  know  that.  There  never  was  a 
more  notable  instance  of  the  truth  of  the  remark,  than 
what  befell  the  Corn  Laws  and  Free  Trade  generally. 
The  argumentative  part  of  the  question  was  fully 
worked  out  long  before  the  men,  who  were  to  make 
those  arguments  go  down  with  the  world,  arrived  to  the 
fore. 

Mauleverer.  I  will  show  you  where  lies  one  of  the 
greatest  difficulties  in  this  matter.  I  suppose  that, 
though  you  deem  me  to  be  a  pessimist,  you  will  allow 
that  I  am  not  far  wrong  when  I  assert  that  the  number 
of  foolish  people  in  the  world  exceeds  the  number  of 
the  sensible  people  in  the  world. 

Ellcsmere.  I  do  not  see  much  harm  in  admitting  the 
truth  of  that  statement.  Something  of  the  same  kind 
has,  occasionally,  when  I  have  been  dyspeptic,  occurred 
to  myself.     What  then? 

Maula:erer.  There  will  be  a  number  of  proposals 
made  in  writing  or  speech,  and  some  of  them  will  be 
wise,  and  some  will  be  foolish.  The  foolibh  proposals 
will,  naturally,  be  accepted  by  die  foolish  majority 
of  human  beings ;  and  the  alien  trumpets  Uiat  Ellcsmere 
speaks  of,  will  chiefly  be  heard  blowing  about  a  screed- 
of  doctrine  which  is  especially  foolish,  but  which  is  entirely 
suitable  to  the  trumpeters. 


328  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

One  of  tlie  silliest  ideas,  one  of  the  most  unprac- 
ticable,  that  I  ever  heard,  was  that  the  accretions  of 
the  value  of  land  made  by  extraneous  causes — I  mean 
by  causes  extraneous  to  the  labours  of  the  landowner — • 
should  be  awarded  to  the  State.  Of  course  the  whole 
of  the  spare  intellect  of  mankind  would  be  given  to  the 
ascertainment  of  this  accretion  of  value.  It  would  be 
requisite  that  every  other  educated  human  being  should 
be  either  a  land-surveyor  or  a  lawyer.  But  you  wili 
find,  that  such  a  proposal,  in  spite  of  its  absurdity,  or 
on  account  of  that  very  absurdity,  will  find  many 
favourers,  many  peojDle  to  blow  these  alien  trumpets. 
Whereas,  a  sensible  suggestion  (not  that  I  pledge 
myself  by  any  means  to  say  that  Milverton's  suggestions 
are  sensible)  will,  as  naturally,  find  but  few  favourers. 
Sense  is  dull :  nonsense  is  generally  lively ;  and  the 
world  delights  in  life  and  animation, 

EHesmere.  Upon  my  word,  there  is  nobody  \^■ho  has 
such  rivers  of  cold  water  to  pour  down  the  backs  of 
unhappy  suggestive  people,  as  our  good  friend  Maul- 
everer.  It  is  a  beautiful  future,  though,  that  he  depicts 
for  us,  when  every  other  man  is  to  be  a  land-surveyor,  or 
a  lawyer. 

Alilverion.  That  was  a  pregnant  saying  of  Burke's, 
that  when  bad  men  combine,  good  men  should  associate. 
Now  putting  aside  the  bad  men,  I  would  merely  say,  that 
good  men  should  combine  for  the  higher  purposes,  as 
well    as  for  the  lower.      I  am  not  one  of   those  who 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  329 

are  frightened  by  the  combinations  of  the  present  day. 
Indeed,  I  suspect  that  much  good  may  come  from  them. 
But,  for  the  most  part,  they  are  combinations  to  effect 
some  distinctly  material  end,  such  as  the  rise  of  wages, 
or  the  diminution  of  the  hours  of  labour.  But,  when 
men  are  more  educated,  they  will  see  how  necessary 
is  combination  to  effect  much  higher  aims.  That  very 
combination  to  which  Cranmer  alluded,  though  it  was 
a  combination  devoted  to  procure  a  mere  material  end, 
was  of  a  thoroughly  unselfish  kind,  and  had  reference  to 
great  principles  of  thought  and  action. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  wish  that  men  would  devote  them- 
selves to  furthering  the  projects  and  the  aims  of  some 
man  who  is  greater  than  themselves,  or  at  least  more 
suggestive, 

EUesmere.  Well,  since  I  have  formed  one  of  the 
Friends  in  Council,  I  have  heard  many  vast  propositions 
put  forward,  but  never  any  like  this.  Are  you  aware, 
Sir  Arthur,  that  most  people  are  rather  vain  ?  and  yet 
you  want  them  to  devote  themselves  to  a  kind  of  hero- 
worship — the  heroes  being  alive,  and  having  only  made 
sensible  propositions,  which,  as  Mauleverer  has  told  you, 
will  probably  be  rather  dull  and  prosaic. 

My  quarrel  with  Milverton  is,  that  he  believes  too 
much  in  government.  His  suggestions  always  smack 
of  officiality,  if  I  may  invent  such  a  term. 

Cranmer.     Well,  how  should  they  be  otherwise  ? 

Ellcsmtrc.      There   is  no  day,  since  we    have    been 


330  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

together  tliis  Easter — no  day  after  Milverton  read  his 
first  section  of  his  first  essay  upon  the  evils  attending 
the  bigness  of  great  towns,  that  I  have  not  endeavoured, 
with  my  limited  capacity  for  such  thoughts,  to  see 
whether  I  could  make  any  suggestion  that  would  be 
of  any  value ;  and,  in  the  end,  I  always  came  back  to 
Cranmer's  "  lights,  easements,  privileges."  You  see  how 
generous  I  am,  Cranmer.  You  always  attack  me,  or 
delight  when  anybody  else  attacks  me  ;  but  when  you 
say  anytliing  admirable,  I  alwa)'s  admire  it. 

I  don't  see  anything  to  be  done  but  providing  large 
spaces  to  be  kept  intact — a  suggestion  of  no  novelty 
— indeed  it  has  entered  into  a  common  phrase,  the 
providing  lungs  for  the  metropolis.  Cranmer  was  quite 
right  when  he  said  that  you  could  not,  in  this  free 
countr)',  jjrevent  men  from  building  where  they  liked,  and 
as  they  liked. 

Milverton.  I  do  not  think,  Ellesmere,  that  you  per- 
ceive the  immense  advantage  of  having  these  subjects 
ventilated.  I  have  a  faidi,  it  may  be  a  weak  one,  in 
the  good  intentions  and  good  dispositions  of  the 
greater  part  of  mankind.  Mauleverer  ridiculed  the 
proposition  that  certain  accretions  of  the  value  of  land 
should  be  brought  to  the  treasury  of  the  State.  If  that 
project  has  captivated  the  minds  of  any  writers  or 
thinkers,  it  is  because  the  minds  of  those  writers  and 
thinkers  have  been  more  sensitive  than  the  minds  of 
other  men,  to  the  enormous  evils  which  exist  among  us ; 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,  331 

and  they  clutch  at  anything  wliich  seems  to  promise 
any  good  for  the  world.  There  are  hundreds,  it  may 
be  thousands,  of  persons  anxious  to  do  what  good  they 
can  ;  and,  in  this  matter  of  providing  open  spaces  to 
feed  with  something  like  pure  air  the  lungs  of  the 
metropolis,  there  are,  no  doubt,  many  wealthy  men  who, 
if  the  question  were  well  put  before  them,  would  devote 
some  portion  of  their  riches  to  this  end. 

I  must  no\v  endeavour  to  answer  the  attack  which 
Ellesmere  made  upon  me,  as  regards  my  suggesting  as 
remedies  nothing  but  what  was  of  a  governmental  or 
official  kind. 

Come  close  to  the  point.  Do  you  believe,  or  do 
you  not  believe,  that  my  suggestion  that  sanitary 
inspectors  should  be  formed  into  a  kind  of  official 
hierarchy,  is  judicious  or  not? 

Allow  iiie  to  go  into  details.  Your  inspector,  in  any 
neighbourhood,  is  liable,  especially  if  his  salary  is  a 
small  one,  to  be  too  much  dependent  upon  the  opinion 
or  the  favour  of  his  nc'ghbours — that  is,  if  he  has 
nothing  else  to  look  to:  But  if,  by  diligent  ami 
unprejudiced  work,  he  can  attain  the  favour  of  his 
official  superiors,  and  that  that  favour  can  produce  a 
rise  in  his  oflicial  rank,  we  have  a  motive  whicli  may 
stem  and  conquer  all  his  neighbourly  affections  He 
will  then  denounce  all  nuisances  boldly. 

Again,  official  or  not,  was  my  suggestion  that  a 
larger   choice    of    men    for   certain    offices    should    be 


332  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

allowed — a  reasonable  suggestion  ?  One  would  think 
sometimes,  to  hear  you  talk,  Ellesmere,  that  official 
life  was  a  thing  apart  from  ordinary  life,  and  that  we, 
in  offices,  were  employed  from  morning  till  night  in 
writing  letters  to  one  another,  which  do  not  at  all 
concern  the  public.  I  only  want  some  of  the  principles 
and  practices  which  lead  to  success  in  other  branches 
of  human  effort,  to  be  adopted  in  official  life.  What 
Avould  you  think  of  a  merchant  who  only  chose  the  men 
to  v.'ork  with  him,  or  under  him,  from  their  having  a 
peculiar  form  of  nose?  That  is  not  a  more  absurd 
limitation  than  that  the  supply  of  men  to  fill  certain 
offices  in  the  State — offices  demanding  great  conversancy 
with  details — should  be  limited  to  those  who  have  a 
secure  seat  in  Parliament. 

Ellesmere.  What  I  am  going  to  say  has  nothing 
whatever  to  do  with  the  present  subject ;  but  I  must 
say  it.  In  one  of  your  early  discourses,  you  said  some- 
thing of  this  kind — that  the  bad  atmosphere  of  London 
prevented,  to  some  extent,  the  healing  of  Avounds  in 
hospitals.  I  doubted  the  fact,  and  so,  I  believe,  did 
Cranmer,  But  1  must  tell  you  that,  if  this  slowness 
of  healing  be  a  fact,  I  have  heard  a  very  different 
reason  given  to  account  for  it — namely,  that  it  arises 
from  a  certain  subtle  source  of  injury  caused  by 
several  wounded  or  sick  people  being  brought  into 
somewhat  close  contact. 

Milverton.      Thank  you  for  the  correction,  if  it  be 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  333 

a  correction.  I  have,  as  you  know,  a  horror  of 
exaggeration,  or  of  pressing  any  argument  too  far. 

You  have  certainly  brought  forward  something  which 
may  damage  that  particular  statement  of  mine  as 
regards  the  quality  of  the  London  atmosphere.  On 
the  other  hand,  I  have  heard  something  which  singu- 
larly confirms  my  statement  of  its  corrosive  influence. 
You  have  all,  doubtless,  heard  of  Sir  Rutherford  Alcock, 
and  how  he  represented  our  interests  in  China.  lie 
visited  the  Chinese  wall,  and  brought  back  two  bricks 
from  it.  I  do  not  pretend  to  determine  for  how 
many  centuries  those  bricks  had  kept  their  form,  and 
betrayed  no  signs  of  decay,  in  that  atmosphere.  But 
those  centuries  must  have  been  many.  Sir  Rutherford 
put  these  two  bricks  out  in  the  balcony  of  his  house 
in  London.  This  was  about  two  years  ago.  One  of 
these  bricks  has  already  gone  to  pieces,  being  entirely 
disintegrated  by  the  corrosive  influence  of  the  London 
atmosphere.  This  fact  was  stated,  I  believe,  to  the 
Geographical  Society  the  other  day. 

Ellesviere.     Could  it  have  been  simple  breakage  ? 

Milvcrton.  No  ;  the  effects  of  breakage  and  corro- 
sion are  as  different  as  can  possibly  be,  and  could  not 
deceive  a  practised  observer  such  as  Sir  Rutherford. 

There  is  something  which  I  have  never  brought 
before  you  when  propounding  any  scheme  of  sanitary 
improvement,  but  which  v/ill  come  in  appropriately  now. 
I   must   admit  that    all    these  schemes  require  money. 


334  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

I  must  also  admit  lliat  rates  for  such  purposes  are 
sufficiently  high  now  ;  and  I  do  not  wonder  that  the 
rated  classes  often  resist  a  proposed  improvement,  which 
they  know  to  be  a  real  improvement,  solely  because 
they  have  a  wholesome  dread  of  the  incease  of  their 
rates.  But  if  they  would  only  look  a  little  forward, 
they  would  see  that  eventually  their  rates  would  be 
lowered.  Oar  defects  in  the  application  of  sanitary 
science  lend  to  make  many  heads  of  families  un- 
rateable,  and  also  throw  gre«t  additional  burdens 
upon  that  most  important  of  all  rates,  the  poor-rate. 
The  great  art  of  taxation  is  to  make  many  persons 
taxable. 

EUcsmcre.  That  is  a  grand  maxim — the  sort  of  thing 
that  Chancellors  of  the  Excliequer  should  have  inscribed 
on  the  walls  opposite  to  their  beds. 

Milverton.  I  will  give  you  an  instance  of  what  I 
mean.  Under  Lord  Shaftesbury's  auspices,  a  new  town 
for  working  people  is  being  raised  at  no  great  distance 
from  the  metropolis.  If  the  Earl  succeeds  in  his 
excellent  project,  there  will  be  a  great  number  of 
rateable  persons  in  that  community,  and  there  will  be 
very  few  persons  who  will  have  to  come  upon  the 
poor-rate.  If  you  could  make  decent  habitation,  for  that 
class  of  the  community,  the  rule  and  not  the  exception, 
you  would  find  that  rates  would  greatly  diminish,  while, 
at  the  same  time,  much  greater  sanitary  effect  would  be 
produced  by  this  lower  rating. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  335 

Until  you  have  tried  to  follow  and  record 
any  conversation,  you  can  hardly  imagine 
how  desultory^  all  conversation  is.  These 
friends  probably  keep  much  closer  to  the 
point  than  most  people ;  but  even  they 
wander  about  in  thought"  and  talk,  amaz- 
ingly. I  cannot  tell  how  it  was  that  the 
conversation  at  this  moment  suddenly  de- 
viated into  a  discourse  about  beautiful 
women.  I  have  some  notion,  however,  that 
the  point  of  junction  arose  from  some  one 
saying,  how  important  it  was  to  have  the 
women  with  you,  when  you  proposed  any 
social  reform ;  and  then,  I  imagine,  that 
some  one  must  have  said,  "  Especially  those 
who  are  beautiful."  Anyhow  it  came  to 
this,  that  Mr.  Milverton  made  the  following 
startling  remark : — 

Milverton.  There  is  no  excess  of  beauty  in  the 
aristocracy  of  this  country.  Very  graceful  they  are,  very 
pleasant,  and,  upon  the  wliolc,  tlicy  talk  very  well, 
but,  as  for  beauty,  you  inu^t  go  to  the  classes  below 
then;,  and  very  low  down  too.  The  day  after  to- 
morrow  is    a   general    holiday.      There   will    be   great 


336  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

crowds  of  people  collected  near  here,  to  enjoy  that 
holiday.  They  will  not,  by  any  means,  belong  to  what 
you  call  the  aiistocracy.  I  am  not  a  betting  man,  but 
I  will  bet  you  anything,  that  I  ^\ill  show  you  more 
feminine  beauty  in  these  gatherings  of  what  you  will 
call  common  people,  than  you  have  ever  seen  in  the 
aristocracy. 

Ellesmcre.     Done,  for  a  guinea. 

Accordingly,  on  the  day  In  question,  we 
attended  some  of  these  gathering-s  ;  and, 
after  much  contention  on  Sir  J.  Ellesmere's 
part,  all  the  friends  were  obliged  to  confess 
that,  in  the  course  of  the  two  hours  we  spent 
in  this  way,  Mr.  Milverton  had  succeeded 
in  pointing  out  to  us  fifty  or  sixty  girls 
or  women,  who  were  certainly  remarkably 
good-looking.  It  was  decided  that  Sir  John 
Ellesmere  had  lost  his  bet.  • 

As  we  walked  home,  Mr.  Milverton  and 
Sir  Arthur  lagged  behind  ;  and  I  went 
forward  with  Sir  John  Ellesmere  and  the 
rest  of  the  party.      Sir  John  said  : — 

Ellesmere.  Do  you  remember  what  I  mentioned  in 
our  first  walk  here  ?     How  there  were  men  who  had  a 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  337 

great  respect  for  their  oj^inions  ;  formed  them  with  care  ; 
and  neglected  no  means  of  defending  them  ?  Milverton, 
I  see,  is  one  of  that  sort.  He  thinks  it  of  great 
importance,  if  not  for  the  world,  at  any  rate  for  himself, 
that  Leonard  Milverton's  opinions  should  be  always 
sound  and  secure. 

Crafimer.  How  few  men  lose  bets  with  perfect  good 
humour ! 

EUesmere.  I  was  mightily  puzzled  as  to  what  was 
the  ruling  thought  in  Milverton's  mind,  when  he  began 
that  disquisition  about  the  beauty  of  women.  What  he 
cares  most  about,  are  not  beautiful  women,  but  beautiful 
theories — chiefly  his  own.  He  let  the  cat  out  of  the  bag 
when  he  said  once  or  twice,  as  you  must  have  noticed 
he  did,  when  he  was  showman  to  these  beauties  of  his, 
"  You  see  that  healthiness  is  a  necessary  concomitant 
of  beauty,  and  these  people  are  healthier  than  the  aris- 
tocracy." 

Maulroerer.  I  do  not  agree  at  all  with  that  state- 
ment, about  health  being  a  necessary  concomitant  of 
beauty. 

EUesmere.  Nor  I ;  but  it  was  an  important  one  for 
him.  You  know  how  he  is  always  raging  against  the 
modes  of  life,  and  the  haljits,  of  what  we  call  society. 
In  some  future  essay,  or  discourse,  he  will  be  sure  to 
maintain,  that  the  aristocracy  arc  naturally  more  beautiful 
than  these  people  we  have  seen  to-day  ;  but  that  their 
beauty  is  damaged   by  injudicious   modes  of  life.     And 

Z 


338  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

then  he  will  appeal  to  us,  and  claim  us  as  witnesses  on 
his  side,  remembering  this  day's  proceedings.  Oh,  I 
know  him  well !  It  was  not  without  some  such  intention 
that  he  gave  himself  the  immense  trouble  and  fatigue, 
that  it  must  have  been  to  him,  to  perform  the  part  of 
showman  to-day. 

I  must  confess  that  I  think  Sir  John  Is 
right ;  and  that  we  are  sure  to  hear  some 
reference  to  this  day's  proceedings  at  a 
future  time. 

In  the  course  of  the  same  day,  after  our 
return  home,  Mr.  Cranmer  suddenly  made 
the  following  observations  having  reference 
to  this  day's  proceeding. 

Cranmer.  Then  you  don't  believe  in  birth,  Mil- 
verton  ? 

Milverton.  There  is  hardly  anything  in  which  my 
belief  is  so  firm,  and  so  strong.  A  man  must  be  very 
devoid  of  observation  who  does  not  believe  in  what  you 
call  birth. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  know  a  man  of  Eastern  descent — 
remote  Eastern  descent — but  you  can  trace  in  him 
many  ancestral  qualities  derived  from  the  East.  He 
is  always  cold :    he  has   a   Brahminical   tenderness  for 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  339 

insects.  All  his  ways,  his  habits,  and  his  modes  of  life 
smack  of  the  East. 

Ellesmere.     This  is  fanciful. 

Milve7-toii.  But  I  will  tell  you  what  is  not  fanciful, 
Ellesmere.  Observe  those  people  who  are  of  French 
descent ;  whose  forefathers  were  driven  over  here  by  the 
Edict  of  Nantes,  or  by  the  French  Revolution.  You 
can  trace  them  by  their  French  names.  Almost  all  of 
those  whom  I  have  known  are  restless,  lively,  brilliant 
persons.  Their  French  descent  has  not  yet  been 
counteracted  by  their  English  intermarriages.  A  similar 
statement  may  be  made  of  those  who  are  of  Dutch 
origin.    - 

People  are  so  apt  to  confuse  birth  with  rank.  I  do 
not  expect  the  descendants  of  a  peer  made  in  George 
III.'s  reign,  to  be  especially  brilliant  personages. 

We,  the  British  nation,  owe  everything  to  birth ;  and 
particularly  to  the  intermixture  of  races.  It  is  the  fact 
upon  which  I  rest  the  continuance  of  our  greatness. 
Our  aristocracy  is  wise  enough  often  to  intermarry  out  of 
its  own  class. 

But  I  will  go  still  farther  than  that.  In  all  classes 
this  intermixture  of  races  goes  on  perpetually.  The 
somewhat  stolid,  sober-minded  Englishman  marries  an 
Irish  or  a  Scotch  woman  ;  and  so  the  next  generation 
has  something  in  it  of  the  brilliant  nature  of  the  Irish,  or 
the  perfervid  nature  of  the  Scotch. 

Why  is  it  that  so  many  f^imilies  in  which  there  has 


340  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

appeared  a  man  of  genius,  have  become  extinct  ?  I 
believe  it  is  because  the  brain  of  the  family,  so  to  speak, 
has  been  too  much  worked.  If  these  men  would  but 
have  married  peasant-girls,  we  should  have  had  a 
continuance,  in  a  mitigated  form,  of  the  genius — at  any 
rate,  we  might  have  had  a  continuance  of  the  family. 

Modern  researches  into  animal  and  insect  life  entirely 
go  to  prove  my  assertion.  It  is  found  that  the  grand- 
child of  the  insect  partakes  the  nature  of  the  grandfather 
insect.  And  something  of  the  same  kind  is  to  be  seen 
in  our  species. 

Hence  it  is — I  mean  from  all  the  considerations  that 
we  have  been  discussing,  not  from  the  last  one  merely — 
that  I  think  the  middle-class  of  our  community  to  be  so 
important  to  the  well-being  of  the  State. 

Sir  Arthur.     I  don't  see  what  you  mean. 

Milverton.  I  mean  this.  There  will  be  sure  to  be  a 
large  intermixture  of  races  in  this  class ;  and  if  they 
retain  sufficient  political  power,  all  will  go  right  for  the 
State. 

EUesmere.     Whig  doctrine ! 

Milverton.  I  do  not  care  w^hat  you  call  it,  but  you 
will  find  it  to  be  the  true  doctrine. 

Now  I  will  tell  you  what  my  fear  is  for  these  Islands. 
It  is  lest  riches  should  be  absorbed  by  one  class,  and 
that  the  wage-receiving  class  should  become  incom- 
parably the  most  numerous.  In  fact,  that  both  the 
highest  and  the  lowest  class  should   gain  considerable 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  341 

numbers  at  the  expense  of  that  middle-class,  which  1 
believe  to  be  the  one  capable  of  resistance  to  all  the 
folly  that  may  come  from  the  two  other  classes. 

Cranmer.  Why  should  this  middle-class  be  diminished 
in  power  or  in  numbers  ? 

Milverton.  My  dear  Cranmer,  don't  you  see  that 
trade  is  becoming  absorbed  by  the  great  capitalists? 
Don't  you  see  that  agriculture  is  becoming  absorbed  by 
the  great  agriculturists,  who,  of  course,  are  also  great 
capitalists  ?  And  then,  don't  you  perceive  that,  day  by 
day,  there  are  fewer  people  who  have  what  is  called  a 
stake  in  the  country?  It  is  a  curious  thing,  but  a  very 
lamentable  thing,  that  the  wage-receiving  portion  of  the 
middle-class,  however  large  their  wages  may  be,  feel 
themselves  to  be  dissociated  from  the  class  of  capitalists. 
You  may  observe  this  even  in  professional  men.  The 
classes  which  rely  upon  intellectual  or  handicraft  labour 
have  mighty  little  sympathy  with  the  class  that  relies 
upon  accumulated  capital  for  its  power  and  its  influence. 
And  the  danger  that  is  imminent  for  the  State — perhaps 
not  in  our  days,  but  in  future  days — is,  lest  these  two 
classes  should  come  into  fatal  collision — that,  in  a 
word,  brains  and  manual  labour  should  combine  against 
^the  capitalist  and  the  possessor  of  land.  This  will  be 
the  greatest  battle  that  will  ever  have  been  seen. 

I  am  very  anxious  for  the  entire  abolition  of  the 
Income  Tax,  and  chiefly  for  this  reason,  that  it  is  likely 
to  be  a  battle-ground  for  these  three  classes.     You  know 


342  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

it  is  an  immensely  provoking  thing  to  the  professional 
man,  and  to  the  wage-receiving  man,  that  he  should 
be  placed  upon  an  equality,  as  regards  taxation,  with  the 
man  who  is  living  upon  realised  property.  We  are 
enduring  this  at  present,  for  we  are  a  forbearing  people  ; 
but,  in  any  times  of  trouble  and  excitement,  it  would  be 
a  fearful  subject  for  agitation. 

Now,  as  regards  the  theological  questions  which  are 
rife  in  the  present  day,  they  are  very  troublesome,  but 
they  will  not,  as  I  have  said  before,  produce  any  political 
disturbance.  All  classes  are  about  equally  interested  in 
them.  The  danger  to  the  well-being  of  a  State  is  when 
different  classes  are  unequally  interested  in  the  peaceable 
settlement  of  great  questions.  And  I  hold  that  the 
great  danger  to  our  State  is  the  gradual  detraction  from 
the  power  and  influence  of  the  middle-classes. 

My  only  objection  to  this  co-operative  movement,  is 
that,  again,  by  co-operation,  you  tend  to  produce  a  great 
capitalist  in  contradistinction  to  a  number  of  small 
capitalists. 

Craiuner.  Then,  Milverton,  you  would  like  to  have 
many  small  agricultural  holdings  ? 

Milverton.  Yes,  I  should.  I  admit  that  agricultural 
produce  may  be  more  certainly  attained  by  large  hold- 
ings. That  is,  it  may  in  the  first  instance.  Drainage, 
deep-ploughing,  and  other  essentials  for  agriculture, 
often  require  large  means.  These  necessary  things  may 
have  to  be  efiected  by  large  capitalists ;  but,  afterwards 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  343 

the  large  capitalist  would  often  do  wisely,  as  it  seems  to 
me,  in  permitting  small  holdings.  If  we  wish  for  the 
stability  of  a  State,  we  must  try  and  get  as  many  persons 
interested  in  that  stability  as  we  possibly  can,  and  so 
increase  the  numbers  of  that  middle-class  as  regards 
which  I  maintam  that  it  is,  and  ought  to  be,  the  most 
stable  portion  ot  any  community. 

Now,  mark  this ;  and  it  is  one  of  the  greatest  lessons 
cf  history :  when  great  States  have  fallen,  yon  may 
almost  always  trace  that  decadence  to  the  gradual 
extinction  of  the  middle-classes. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

^"Jl /"E  were  walking  about  the  gardens  at 
Kew,  when  the  following  conversation 
took  place.  It  is  especially  difficult,  as  I 
have  often  said,  to  report  accurately  what 
is  said  when  people  are  walking  and  talking ; 
but  I  have  here  made  a  great  endeavour  to 
do  so,  thinking  that  the  subject  treated  to- 
day, though  accidentally  brought  up  and 
discussed  without  any  preparation,  is  so 
important,  that  even  these  peripatetic  re- 
marks about  it  might  be  worth  recording. 

The  conversation  was  at  first  purely 
botanical,  if  indeed  botanical  it  could  be 
called,  when  none  of  the  company  were 
botanists.  Sir  John  Ellesmere,  with  that 
powerful  habit  of  familiarity  which  he  pos- 
sesses,  had   made   himself  acquainted  with 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  3-15 

some  of  the  principal  people  employed  in 
the  management  of  those  gardens,  and  he 
was  quite  in  his  element  acting  as  cicerone 
to  the  rest  of  the  party. 

Ellesmere.  You  see  this  little  insignificant-looking 
plant.  We  have  made  thousands,  and  I  believe  tens  of 
thousands  of  pounds,  by  cultivating  it  and  sending  slips 
of  it,  or  layers  of  it  (I  am  sure  I  don't  know  whether  I 
use  the  right  word),  out  to  India  and  to  our  colonies. 

Milverton.  By  the  way,  is  it  not  a  fact  worth  noticing, 
that  the  most  important  plants  in  the  world  are  so 
insignificant  in  appearance  ?  Now  look  at  this  tea- 
plant  !  Who  would  have  thought  from  its  personal 
appearance  that  it  would  be  about  the  most  important 
plant  in  the  world  ? 

Then  look  at  this  rough  weedy-looking  thing,  the 
tobacco-plant — who  would  have  thought  that  that  was 
the  plant  that  would  gladden  the  hearts  of  Chancellors 
of  the  Exchequer  all  over  the  world  ?  for  there  has  been 
less  complaint  about  the  taxes  upon  tobacco  than  about 
almost  any  other  taxes. 

Cranvier.  Really  it  was  a  very  beautiful  thought  — a 
thought  of  high  civilization — that  led  great  nations  to 
bring  together  the  plants,  trees,  and  herbs  of  all  climes. 
How  much  grander  and  more  useful  a  thing  it  is  than 
bringing  together  the  animals  of  all  climes.     I  don't  like 


346  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

going  to  the  Zoological  Gardejis,  because  I  feel  how  un- 
happy most  of  the  poor  animals  must  be.  Those  wretched 
monkeys,  for  ir.stance,  the  victims  of  consumption  in  our 
changeful  atmosphere;  but  we  can  manage  to  make  this 
foreign  vegetation  thrive.  When  we  were  in  the  palm- 
house,  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  its  occupants  were  very  con- 
tented with  their  present  position,  and  were  very  much 
obliged  to  Dr.  Hooker  for  placing  them  there.  What  a 
grand  idea  it  gave  one  of  a  jungle  ! 

Sir  Arthur.  Seeing  all  these  plants  and  trees,  chiefly 
brought  from  our  colonies,  puts  me  in  mind  of  some- 
thing I  have  long  wished  to  put  before  you,  Milverton. 

You  have  given  us  many  of  your  views  about  govern- 
ment at  home ;  and,  during  this  Easter,  you  have  told  us 
what  you  would  do  respecting  sanitary  affairs,  and  for 
the  improvement  of  great  towns.  But  I  should  like  to 
hear  what  you  would  say  about  colonial  administration. 
You  may  remember  that,  for  a  few  months,  I  was  once 
Under-Secretary  for  the  Colonies  ;  and  their  fortunes 
havaever  since  been  very  dear  to  me,  and  very 'pressing 
upon  my  mind. 

Milverton.  My  dear  Sir  Arthur,  you  seem  to  forget, 
which  is  not  very  complimentary,  that  I  have  written  a 
great  deal  about  our  colonies,  and  I  have  really  nothing 
new  to  say  upon  the  subject. 

Ellesmcre.  Well,  re-say  it  then.  An  author  always 
seems  to  think  that  one  has  all  his  lucubrations  fully 
before  one  at  any  given   period.     Whatever  offence  it 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  347 

may  evoke  in  the  author's  mind,  I  must  honestly  confess 
that  I  do  not  remember  a  single  thought  that  Miixerton 
has  given  us  about  the  colonies.  I  suppose  he  told 
us  that  they  were  to  be  good  boys,  and  that  we  were  to 
be  good  fathers  and  mothers  to  them. 

Milverton.  I  think  I  said  a  little  more  than  that. 
But  now  I  will  repeat,  as  far  as  I  can  recollect  it,  what  I 
did  say,  or,  at  any  rate,  what  I  now  think. 

To  begin  with,  very  few  of  us  have  anything  like 
accurate  knowledge  of  the  relation  which  the  colonies 
bear  towards  us.  This  relation  is  very  different  in 
different  cases.  Some  of  our  colonies  are  as  nearly  as 
possible  self-supporting,  self-administering,  practically 
almost  independent.  Others,  on  the  contrary,  are,  com- 
paratively speaking,  in  an  infant  and  dependent  position 
towards  us.  Others,  again,  are  in  a  medium  state,  half- 
dependent,  half-independent.  You  may  imagine  how 
different  must  be  the  modes  of  dealing  with  these 
various  colonies  by  the  Colonial  Office. 

I  have  always  thought,  contrary  to  the  opinions  of 
many  people,  that  colonies  are  an  enormous  advantage 
to  the  nation,  an  absolutely  unspeakable  advantage.  It 
seems  to  me  such  a  great  thing  to  have,  in  the  most 
distant  parts  of  the  earth,  large  and  powerful  com- 
munities, speaking  the  same  language  as  ourselves, 
having  the  same  primitive  ideas — I  mean  looking  at 
things  substantially  in  the  same  way  that  we  do,  and  yet 
having  a  different  climate,  different  products  of  the  earth, 


348  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

and  even  different  modes  of  legislation  and  government, 
by  all  which  similitudes  and  diversities  we  can  p'-ofit,  more 
than  other  nations,  who  have  not  established  colonies. 

We  sought  at  first,  in  a  vulgar  and  self-seeking  way, 
by  prohibitive  duties,  to  grant  especial  encouragement  to 
our  colonies,  and,  at  the  same  time,  to  make  them  more 
closely  bountl  up  with  us ;  while,  for  ourselves,  wt 
hoped  to  gain  peculiar  advantages  from  this  restriction 
of  commerce.  The  first  motive  was  the  strongest  one, 
namely,  the  hope  of  benefiting  our  colonies  by  these 
duties.  Our  colonial  brethren  might,  in  gratitude, 
sometimes  remember  this. 

But  it  was  a  vicious  system ;  and  free  trade  has 
suppressed  it.  The  main  error  that  we  have  committed, 
as  it  seenis  to  me,  and  which  we  still  continue  to  commit, 
is  that  we  have  not  sufficiently  associated  the  colonies 
with  the  Imperial  government.  The  fountains  of  honour 
should  have  been  as  freely  open  to  them  as  to  ourselves. 
Not  only  by  doing  that,  which  may  appear  a  much 
smaller  thing  than  it  really  is,  but  in  every  way  that  we 
could  devise,  we  should  have  associated  the  leading  men 
amongst  them  with  otir  leading  men.  There  should 
have  been  colonial  peers,  and  colonial  privy  councillors. 
The  wonderful  increase  in  our  time  of  rapidity  of  loco- 
motion favours  this  view ;  and  I  do  not  believe  that  any 
other  device  would  serve  so  well  to  attach  the  colonies 
to  us.  The  time  may  come  when  we  may  greatly  desire 
the  existence  of  such  an  attachment. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  3-19 

The  governor  of  an  almost  independent  colony 
is  now  in  a  very  isolated  position,  and  cannot  do 
half  the  good  that  he  would  be  enabled  to  do,  if  he 
could,  occasionally,  have  assistance  in  the  councils  at 
home  from  men  who  have  distinguished  themselves  in 
the  colonies,  and  are  versed  in  (juestions  of  colonial 
administration,  which  are  foreign  to  the  knowledge  of 
most  persons. 

We  have  pursued  a  wiser  course  with  India ;  and 
there  is,  no  doubt,  great  advantage  derived  from  the 
Indian  Council. 

I  admit  that  the  cases  are  different ;  but  something, 
not  altogether  dissimilar  from  the  course  we  i)ur?ue 
as  regards  the  government  of  India,  might  be  adopted 
with  regard,  at  any  rate,  to  some  of  our  colonies. 

The  great  difficulty  and  the  constant  stumbling-block 
of  offence  between  ourselves  and  our  colonies  is,  as 
might  be  expected,  the  question  of  finance.  Up  to  a 
certain  time,  we  have  taken  upon  ourselves,  wholly 
or  partially,  the  defence  of  a  colony.  Then  comes  the 
nice  question  of  gradually  withdrawing  the  means  for 
defence;  and  practically  informing  the  colony  that  it 
must,  on  all  ordinary  occasions,  take  care  of  itself. 

A  similar  question  has  arisen  as  regarils  the 
civil  administration  of  the  colony ;  and,  herein,  the 
question  of  gradual  withdrawal  has  been  even  more 
complicated,  and  has  required  still  more  delicate  hand- 
ling.     In    all    such    matters    I    should   venture    to    say 


350  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

that,  upon  high  Imperial  considerations,  our  conduct 
should  lean  rather  to  generosity  than  to  parsimony. 
Doubtless,  this  would  appear  very  wild  doctrine  to 
those  persons  who  start  with  the  idea  that  colonies  are 
not  very  serviceable  to  the  mother-country ;  and  that,  in 
times  of  war,  they  may  be  a  very  dangerous  possession. 
But  those  people  should  be  made  aware  that  we  have 
gone  too  far,  with  safety  and  honour,  to  retract.  It  is 
no  use  saying,  that  colonies  should,  in  time  of  war, 
take  care  of  themselves.  The  voice  of  the  people  would 
pronounce  distinctly  against  that  doctrine  ;  and,  on  any 
great  occasion,  the  voices  of  a  few  political  economists 
would  meet  with  no  response. 

Looking  at  the  whole  matter  practically,  I  feel 
certain  that  we  are  committed,  as  it  were,  to  the 
support  of  our  colonies  both  in  the  case  of  danger  from 
the  foreigner,  and  in  the  case  of  great  domestic  danger 
or  disturbance.  Our  policy,  therefore,  should  be,  by 
every  means  in  our  power  to  keep  up  the  strictest 
possible  union  with  the  colonies,  so  that  we  might 
avail  ourselves  of  the  attachment  of  each  and  all  of 
them,  for  the  aid  and  protection  of  any  one  which 
might  be,  for  the  moment,  in  danger. 

I  come  now  to  a  much  smaller  matter,  which,  never 
theless,  has  great  influence  in  times  of  peace.     Of  course 
you  will  say  that  I  am  speaking  as  an  author  ;  but  it  is  a 
matter  which   much  concerns   the  highest  cultivation  of 
the  world,  that  there  should   be  good   laws,  regulating 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  351 

copyright  throughout  all  those  countries  in  which  the 
inhabitants  speak  the  same  language.  You  can  hardly 
imagine  what  a  benefit  this  would  be  to  the  higher 
branches  of  literature,  of  science,  and  of  art.  And  this 
object  would  be  greatly  promoted  by  that  interchange  of 
thoughtful  administration,  which  would  be  produced  by 
our  having  amongst  us  persons  in  high  and  responsible 
positions  who  had  been,  or  still  were,  eminent  persons 
in  the  colonies. 

There  are  many  other  matters  of  larger  moment  in 
which  the  interests  both  of  the  colonies  and  of  the 
mother-country  would  be  greatly  served  by  this  inter- 
change of  thought,  and  by  the  presence  here,  if  only 
occasionally,  of  the  great  men  of  the  colonies. 

To  my  mind,  there  has  never  been  any  people  who 
understood  the  management  of  colonies  and  of  provinces 
so  well  as  did  the  Romans  in  their  best  times.  We 
cannot,  at  this  long  interval,  and  with  the  scanty 
records  that  we  have  of  Roman  thought  u])on  this  sub- 
ject, lay  down  exactly  what  were  the  principles  which 
actuated  them.  But  enough  remains  to  show  that  they 
understood  the  art  of  making  the  colonists,  and  the 
provincials,  feel  that  they  were  united  by  strict  bonds  to 
the  mother-country,  and  that  a  provincial  or  a  colonist 
should  be  in  every  respect  a  civis  Romanis. 

Ellesmere.  Sero  maiicina  paratiir.  I'he  dose  has  been 
dilatory :  it  comes,  I  fear,  too  late.  You  should  have 
commenced  this  system  long  ago. 


352  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Cranmcr.     I  don't  think  it  is  too  late. 

Ellesmerc.  Are  you  not,  sir,  an  official  man,  or,  at 
some  time  of  your  life,  have  you  not  been  in  office? 
Does  delay  ever  make  any  official  man  acknowledge  that 
a  remedy  can  come  too  late  ?  Go  down  from  the 
witness-box  :  you  are  a  discredited  witness. 

Sir  Arthur.  I'his  gives  me  a  fair  opportunity  of 
saying  what  I  have  long  wished  to  say  in  Ellesmere's 
presence,  but  thought  it  would  be  rude  to  do  so ;  and 
that  is,  as  to  the  general  treatment  of  witnesses  by 
counsel.  If  a  man  has  the  misfortune  to  see  or  hear  of 
any  transaction  which  is  brought  into  court,  he  is  really 
liable  to  undergo  peine  forte  et  dure  in  that  abode  of 
mia>.ry,  the  "witness-box."  Most  men  of  a  certain  age 
have  committed  some  folly,  met  with  some  misfortune,  or 
have  done  or  said  something  which  it  is  exceedingly  un- 
pleasant for  them  to  recount  again.  Even  women  may 
not,  during  all  their  lives,  have  acted  wisely ;  and,  in 
fact,  there  remain  no  unterrifiable  witnesses  but  children. 

Suppose  it  were  a  case  of  the  collision  of  carriages, 
and  some  statesman  who  happened  to  be  passing 
by  at  the  time  of  the  collision  were  examined  as  a 
witness,  the  cross-examination  might  run  thus.  "  Did 
you  not,  sir,  in  the  year  i8 — ,  vow  and  declare  that  if 
there  was  anything  in  this  world  you  admired,  anything 
to  which  you  were  ready  to  bow,  it  was  the  Englibh 
Church  ?  And  did  you  not,  in  the  year  i8 — ,  say  all  you 
could  to  injure  that  Church?" 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  353 

The  wretched  statesman  would  then  begin  to  explain, 
how  he  did  not  exactly  say  what  the  counsel  makes  him 
to  have  said,  either  on  the  first  or  the  second  occasion  ; 
and  by  repeated  cross-examination  he  would  be  made  to 
appear  a  mass  of  bewildered  inconsistency. 

Then  the  counsel  breaks  forth  with  becoming  indigna- 
tion. "  It  does  not  seem,  sir,  that  you  have  ever  known 
on  which  side  you  were,  or  on  which  side  any  body  else 
was ;  and  yet  you  are  perfectly  certain  that  the  defend- 
ant's carriage  was  on  the  near  side  of  the  road,  when  the 
plaintiff's  carriage  dashed  up  against  it." 

Ellesmcre.     This  is  farcical. 

Milvcrion.  Not  a  bit  more  than  many  cross-examina- 
tions I  have  read.  What  does  it  signify  to  the  case 
whether  a  witness  has  "lived  happily  with  his  wife?" 
Yet  that  is  the  sort  of  thing  which  you  lawyers  bring  up. 

EUesinere.  We  must  attend  to  what  is  in  our  briefs ; 
and  surely  the  character  of  a  witness  is  an  important 
point,  as  regards  his  credibility? 

Sir  /biJnir.  Yes,  but  it  should  only  be  the  character 
ad  hoc.  Your  cross-examination  has  no  right  to  travel 
into  all  the  circumstances  of  a  man's  life,  which  cannot, 
except  by  a  great  stretch  of  f:xncy,  be  made  to  apjjly  to 
the  bearings  of  the  case. 

Milvcrion.  It  remains  for  jurymen  and  judges  to  put 
this  evil  down ;  and  it  is  not  one  of  the  least  imp-ortant  of 
their  functions. 

C/aiuiur.     Meanwhile,  since  we  have  been   enlarging 

A    A 


354  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

upon  the  iniquities  of  lawyers,  we  have  lost  sight  of  our 
colonial  friends. 

Ellesmcre.  The  truth  is,  we  (at  any  rate  I  speak  for 
myself)  have  not  sufficient  knowledge  to  talk  upon  the 
subject.  Milverton's  sayings  seemed  to  me  plausible 
enough.  I  can  well  imagine  that  we  have  never  taken 
enough  pains  to  make  our  colonies  in  unison  with  our- 
selves. But  you  know,  there  is  a  touch  of  the  parish  vestry 
even  in  the  greatest  assemblies  of  mankind  ;  and  our  own 
Parliament  is  not  devoid  of  this  parish  vestry  element. 
The  i^arish  purnp  will  interest  it  more  than  any  affair 
in  a  distant  colony,  especially  if,  in  that  affair,  several 
names,  difficult  to  pronounce,  occur.  It  is  for  statesmen 
to  have  forethought  in  these  matters,  not  for  ordinary 
members  of  Parliament. 

No  more  was  said  about  colonies  or 
colonial  administration,  and  we  proceeded 
in  our  walk  through  the  garden. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

/~\UR  next  conversation  began  after  a 
game  of  croquet.  I  do  not  play 
myself:  It  seems  a  very  poor  kind  of  game 
— at  least  it  does  to  a  Scotchman  accus- 
tomed to  play  golf;  but  it  amuses  these 
Southerners  very  much,  I  can  see. 

As  for  my  chief,  he  would  play  any 
game  whatever  with  earnestness  and  viva- 
city. I  believe  he  would  throw  some  spirit 
and  some  hope  into  "  Beggar  my  Neigh- 
bour." He  evidently  looks  upon  games  as 
a  good  means  of  interrupting  thought,  and 
as  the  surest  mode  of  recreation. 

In  a  game  of  croquet.  Sir  John  and 
Lady  EUesmere  always  play  on  one  side ; 
Mr.  Milverton  and  Mr.  Cranmer  on  the 
other.     Sir  John  and  his  partner  are  greatly 


356  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

the  better  players ;  but  the  other  side 
sometimes  steal  a  victor}'-,  if  they  can  make 
Sir  John  and  my  Lady  dispute  wirfi  one 
another  about  the  strokes,  and  so  become 
a  little  nervous  and  disjointed  in  their 
play. 

When  we  were  in  the  librar}'',  the  con- 
versation began  thus  : — 

Milverion.  There  is  a  great  deal  to  be  learnt  from 
games ;  but  perhaps  the  greatest  lesson  is,  that  one 
always  does  a  thing  better,  the  more  indifferent  one  is  as 
to  the  doing  of  it.  Now,  if  one  could  but  learn  that 
lesson  in  the  larger  game  of  life,  how  useful  it  would  be. 
I  have  observed  that  a  man  is  hardly  ever  so  successful 
as  when  he  does  not  care  at  all  about  succeeding. 

I  was  once  at  an  archery  meeting.  At  a  pause  in 
the  contest  they  jokingly  asked  me  to  take  a  shot,  wishing 
probably  to  get  some  amusement  from  the  clumsy 
attempt  of  an  awkward  and  inexperienced  man.  I  was 
quite  willing  to  afford  this  amusement.  I  remember 
that  I  gave  a  good  look  at  the  gold,  and  then  at  once 
shot  right  into  the  centre  of  it.  They  asked  me  to  join 
in  the  game,  but  I  wisely  declined.  I  heard  that  new 
and  somewhat  vulgar  word  so  often  in  Ellesmere's  mouth, 
"  fluke,"  muttered  by  some  of  the  bystanders.  Now  it 
wa^  not  a  fluke.     It  was,  that  the  eye  and  the  hand,  not 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  357 

being  embarrassed  or  controlled  by  any  nervous  care, 
did  their  duty  properly  and  exactly.  Some  time  after- 
wards, I  •  did  try  to  find  what  skill  1  had  with  those 
implements,  for  which  Dugald  Dalgetty  had  such  a 
contempt,  bows  and  arrows.  I  found  it  was  a  wonderful 
event  if  I  hit  the  target  at  all ;  but  then  you  see  I  tried 
hard  to  hit  it.  How,  too,  when  we  especially  wish  to 
please,  we  mostly  fail ! 

There  are  some  defects  of  mind  which  seem  to  be 
almost  incurable ;  the  shy  man  remains  shy  to  the  end  of 
the  chapter,  however  much  you  may  accustom  him  to 
society  and  to  being  brought  prominently  before  the 
world.  Well  then,  as  regards  public  speaking,  even  such 
men  as  the  late  Lord  Derby  and  the  late  Sir  Robert 
Peel  never  succeeded  in  conquering  the  nervous  timi- 
dity which  they  felt  in  having  to  speak  on  any  great 
occasion  This  kind  of  nervousness  is,  I  believe,  un- 
conquerable. 

Sir  Arthur.  What  then  is  conquerable  ?  What  does 
one  learn  by  experience  ? 

Milverton,  Ah  !  that  is  the  question  of  questions.  1 
suppose  one  is  sent  here  to  gain  experience. 

Maiileverer.  One  finds  out  what  a  fool  one  is,  and 
what  fools  other  people  are. 

Ellesmere.  What  a  good  subject  this  would  make 
for  an  essay  !  You  might  call  it  "  Lookmg  back  upon 
Life."  Milverton  shall  write  the  essay,  and  the  icst  of 
us    shall    be   severe   critics.     We  are   not   very   aged, 


358  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

any  of  us ;  but  every  one  of  us  was  brought  very 
early  into  what  is  called  "  Life,"  and  so  we  ought  to 
have  learned  some  experience.  When  I  say  every  one 
of  us,  of  course  I  except  the  ladies;  but  then  you  know 
they  begin  life  so  early,  so  much  earlier  than  we  do.  A 
maiden  of  seventeen  being  at  least  equal  to  a  man  of 
forty  in  nice  and  critical  observation  of  all  that  is  brought 
before  her,  we  may  fairly  say  that,  whenever  the  ladies  are 
our  inferiors  in  age,  they  are  our  superiors  in  experience. 
I  flatter  myself,  Lady  EUesmere,  that  this  is  a  noble 
revenge  I  am  taking  for  your  ill-natured  comments  upon 
my  play  at  croquet  this  morning,  which  made  me  nervous 
and  caused  us  to  lose  the  game  to  those  wretched 
players.  I  saw  through  the  cunning  of  that  man  [point- 
ing to  Mr.  Milverton],  who  did  everything  he  could  to 
sow  dissension  between  us — now  siding  with  you,  and 
now  Avith  me — in  the  hope  of  confusing  us,  and  so 
winning  a  victory  for  his  side.  How  contemptible  are 
the  arts  of  diplomatists  and  official  men  ! 

Sir  Arthur.  Ellesmere's  idea,  Milverton,  is  a  very 
good  one.  He  has  given  you  an  excellent  subject  for  an 
essay,  and  it  will  be  the  last  one  we  shall  have  this  year, 
for  we  must  go  up  to  town  on  Monday,  therefore  by 
next  Saturday  you  must  have  this  essay  ready. 

Milverton,  It  is  scant  time  to  allow  me  for  the  treat- 
ment of  such  a  serious  subject;  but  I  will  do  my  best. 

Thus  it  was  agreed   that   Mr.   Milverton 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  359 

should  write  this  essay ;  and,  until  Satur- 
day morning,  he  and  I  were  busily  engaged 
in  our  work.  When  the  day  came  we 
were  ready ;  and,  without  any  previous 
talk,   Mr.  INIilverton  read  as  follows : — 


LOOKING  BACK  UPON  LIFE. 

In  considering  this  vast  subject,  it  is 
almost  needless  to  premise  that  it  does 
not  admit  of  being  treated  with  anything 
like  defined  certainty.  The  very  different 
standpoints,  from  which  different  individuals 
will  look  back  upon  life,  must  make  their 
conclusions  very  dissimilar.  Still,  there  are 
some  general  results  which  may  be  set 
down  as  matters  of  comparative  certainty. 

It  is  as  if,  with  our  present  imperfect 
knowledge,  we  were  to  undertake  to  make 
a  map  of  Africa.  Nevertheless,  there  are 
certain  great  outlines  which  may  be  taken 
to  be  determined. 

Roughly  we  may  divide  this  subject 
into    three    heads :    namely,    what  we    find, 


36o  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

in  looking  back  upon  life,  of  change  of 
view  as  regards  ourselves — as  regards  our 
fellow-men — and  as  regards  the  world  in 
general. 

First,  with  regard  to  ourselves.  Perhaps 
the  most  remarkable  change  that,  on  this 
retrospection,  we  discover  in  ourselves,  is, 
that  we  have  begun  to  find  out  the  truth 
of  the  tritest  sayings  :  of  sayings,  indeed, 
which  were  little  more  than  so  many  well- 
disposed  and  well-connected  words  to  us 
at  our  outset  in  life.  They  were  words 
which  we  supposed  to  have  some  truth  and 
meaning  in  them,  because  they  seemed  to 
have  been  accepted  in  all  ages  and  by  all 
peoples.  No  doubt,  we  thought,  they  con- 
cern other  persons ;  and,  in  truth,  they 
were  even  then  accepted  by  us  from  a 
kind  of  polite  conformity. 

Proverbs,  which  once  we  thought  were 
of  a  certain  respectable  character — proverbs 
which  we  were  ready  to  admit  justly  found 
a  place  in  all  good  collections  of  proverbs 
— have  ceased    to  become  merely  respect- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  361 

able,  and,  perhaps,  have  become  almost 
dreadful  by  reason  of  their  close  applica- 
tion to  ourselves,  and  our  own  past  con- 
duct. 

Of  the  virtues,  that  one  which  some  of 
us  had  most  despised,  or,  at  any  rate,  had 
supposed  to  be  a  mean,  poor,  and  middle- 
aged  virtue,  quite  unequal  to  deal  with 
the  great  occasions  of  life,  has  probably 
become  the  one  of  which,  from  experience, 
we  could  now  speak  most  highly.  We 
have  found,  to  our  cost,  that  Prudence  is 
indeed  the  mother  of  all  the  virtues. 

One  of  the  things  that  must  strike  a 
thoughtful  man  very  forcibly  when  he  looks 
back  upon  life.  Is  the  Immense  power  given 
to  the  Individual — a  power  to  Injure  him- 
self to  any  extent — to  Injure  or  oppress  his 
fellow-men  to  a  fearful  extent — and,  not 
less,  to  injure  and  oppress  the  rest  of  the 
animal  creation.  This  is,  perhaps,  the 
most  astonishing  phenomenon  in  the  world, 
viz.,  the  apparently  limitless  extent,  for  evil, 
of  the  power  of  an  individual. 


302  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Again,  in  looking-  back  upon  life,  most 
thoughtful  men  will  recollect  how  great  a 
mystery  and  perplexity  the  system  of  the 
world  has  been  to  them.  With  some  men^ 
and  not  by  any  means  the  least  thoughtful, 
this  terrible  enigma  increases  in  difficulty. 
It  continues  to  sadden  them,  and  numb 
their  efforts,  to  the  end  of  their  lives.  With 
others,  who  certainly  may  claim  to  be  the 
more  practical  men,  the  burden  of  this 
difficulty  is  at  some  period  of  their  lives 
resolutely  put  aside ;  and  they  set  to  work 
to  do  what  they  can  to  render  life  smoother 
for  themselves  and  their  fellow-men,  re- 
gardless of  the  vast  chaotic  difficulties  and 
incomprehensibilities,  which  at  one  time 
had  pervaded  all  their  thoughts,  and  had 
tended  greatly  to  deaden  their  activity. 

In  looking  back  upon  life,  a  man  will 
recognize  to  which  of  these  two  great  sec- 
tions of  mankind  he  has  belonged. 

In  this  retrospect,  it  is  well  to  see 
to  what  injurious  things  one  becomes 
accustomed.       I     believe    that    most    men 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  363 

will  find,  upon  self-examination,  that  they 
have  become,  to  a  certain  extent,  used  to 
contumely,  abuse,  and  calumny — but  not  to 
misrepresentation.  If  this  statement  be 
true,  it  tells  well  for  human  nature.  It  is 
the  untruthfulness  of  misrepresentation  that 
vexes  men  so  much.  The  basis  of  this 
feeling  is  the  same  as  that  which  prompted 
the  celebrated  words,  "  Strike,  but  hear 
me."  The  misrepresented  man  says,  "  Call 
me  knave,  coward,  fool ;  but  tell  the  stoiy 
truly  upon  which  you  found  these  injurious 
accusations." 

Ingratitude  is  a  hard  thing  to  bear ;  but 
men  become  much  more  easily  accustomed 
to  bear  even  that,  than  to  endure  mis- 
representation. The  probability  that  my 
statement  is  true,  is  shown  by  the  answer 
often  given  to  the  perplexing  question, 
"  Would  you  rather  be  condemned  upon  a 
true  accusation  than  upon  a  false  one  ?  " 
From  the  answers  to  this  incjuiry,  you  will 
find  that  most  men  are  ready  to  accept 
the    strange     conclusion,     that    they    cuuld 


364  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

better   bear  when   guilty,   than   when    inno- 
cent, to  suffer  condemnation. 

When  we  indulge  in  a  retrospective 
mood,  do  we  find  that  the  great  passions 
or  affections  of  the  mind — such  as  Hope, 
Fear,  Love,  and  the  like — have  lost  their 
sway?  Certainly  not,  I  would  maintain, 
as  regards  those  persons  who  possess  na- 
tures of  much  pith  and  force.  With  such 
men,  the  objects  of  these  passions  may  be 
changed ;  are,  indeed,  in  some  respects, 
certain  to  be  changed ;  but  not  the  depth 
and  vitality  of  the  passions  themselves. 
For  example,  the  young  man  mostly 
begms  with  a  large  and  vivid  hope  of  what 
he  is  to  do  by  his  own  efforts.  If  he  is 
a  man  of  benevolent  tendency,  he  is  to 
effect  much  in  the  regeneration  of  mankind. 
Experience  teaches  him  how  little  he  can 
do  ;  but  his  hopefulness  will  not  be  entirely 
fooled,  and  soon  comes  to  fix  itself  upon 
the  general  advance  of  mankind  in  civili- 
zation— an  advance  which  he  now  perceives 
is  to  be  attained  by  innumerable  individual 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  365 

efforts.  In  fine,  the  hope  changes. its  form, 
but  not  its  substance. 

His  fears,  if  they  do  not  take  a  similar 
course,  are  not,  at  any  rate,  less  potent 
than  they  were  in  early  life  ;  and,  if  he  is 
naturally  of  a  timid  disposition,  those  fears 
deepen  and  darken  as  age  advances. 

With  regard  to  love,  that  passion  of 
course  changes  somewhat  of  its  character, 
and  one  form  of  it  may  die  out  altogether ; 
but  its  essential  nature  is  unchanged,  and 
perhaps  unchangeable.  Indeed,  there  is 
no  affection  of  the  human  soul  whicli,  pro- 
bably, as  age  advances,  gains  more  in 
extent,  variety,  and  versatility.  The  hind- 
rances which  sometimes  in  youth  confine 
that  affection  within  narrow  bounds,  such 
as  intolerance,  largeness  of  expectation,  are 
gradually  removed  by  the  experience  of  life, 
and  therefore  the  affection,  nay,  I  would  say 
the  passion,  itself  has  only  a  wider  and  a 
deeper  sway  as  age  advances. 

Even  the  lesser  affections  of  the  soul 
are  not  dwarfed  or  diminished  by  increase 


366  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

of  years^— as,  for  instance,  the  capacity  for 
enjoyment.  The  immortal  soul  does  not 
grow  old  in  seventy  years.  Often  it  feels 
itself  to  be  younger.  And  why?  Because 
it  thinks  less  about  itself,  is  less  perplexed 
about  its  own  doings,  is  less  weakly  sensi- 
tive, and  therefore  has  wider  sympathies, 
and  enters  more  heartily  into  the  enjoy- 
ments partaken  by  its  fellows.  Unless 
hindered  by  physical  circumstances,  such 
as  ill-health,  loss  of  hearing,  or  loss  of 
sight,  the  capacity  for  social  enjoyment, 
wath  many  persons,  goes  on  steadily  in- 
creasing. 

There  is  another  reason  for  this  advance 
in  the  capability  of  enjoyment,  besides  the 
one  already  given.  It  is  that  criticism 
becomes  more  indulgent,  fastidiousness  less 
prevalent ;  and  the  youth  who  began  by 
proneness  to  blame  and  censure,  and  by 
disappointment  at  the  feebleness  of  all 
human  efforts  (including  their  attempts  at 
pleasure  as  well  as  their  attempts  at  man- 
aging the  serious  affairs  of  life)  ends  perhaps 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  367 

by  being  somewhat  astonished  at  the  suc- 
cess which,  with  all  their  shortcomings, 
men  have  attained  in  Art,  Science,  and 
even  in  the  Pleasures  of  life — their  most 
common  source  of  failure.  Finding  how 
little  he  himself  has  been  able  to  accom 
plish  in  any  of  these  directions,  he  begins 
to  look  with  some  respect,  and  much 
wonder,  at  what  mankind,  taken  as  a  whole, 
have  after  all  accomplished 

Ellesmcre.  Do  let  me  interrupt  for  a  moment,  just  for 
the  sake  of  giving  Milverton  some  breathing  time.  I 
am  going  to  agree  with  him,  so  there  will  be  no  dis- 
cussion. Let  us  all  pray  thai,  if  we  commit  any  crime,  it 
may  be  our  good  fortune  to  have  in  the  jury  that  tries  us 
a  fair  number  of  elderly  men.  I  assure  you,  that  in  the 
two  or  three  great  criminal  cases  1  have  been  engaged  in, 
as  counsel  for  the  prisoner,  the  first  thing  on  entering 
the  Court  tliat  I  have  done,  is  to  look  at  the  jury  to 
see  if  there  was  a  handsome  sprinkling  of  middle-aged  or 
elderly  men  amongst  them.     Now  go  on,  Milverton. 

Milverton.  Your  interruption,  Ellesmere,  was  not  as 
inconvenient  as  usual,  for  I  was  going  to  commence 
dealing  widi  the  second  division  of  my  subject,  and 
I  will  do  so  now. 


368  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

In  looking  back  upon  life,  I  suppose  that 
most  of  us  will  find  that  we  have  come  to 
form  a  very  different  estimate  of  human 
character  from  that  with  which  we  began. 
I  do  not  know  of  anything  which  more 
fascinates  youth  than  what,  for  want  of  a 
better  word,  we  may  call  brilliancy. 
Gradually,  however,  this  peculiar  kind  of 
estimation  changes  very  much.  It  Is  no 
longer  those  who  are  brilliant,  those  who 
affect  to  do  the  most  and  the  best  work 
with  the  least  apparent  pains  and  trouble, 
whom  we  are  most  inclined  to  admire. 
We  eventually  come  to  admire  labour,  and 
to  respect  It  the  more,  the  more  openly  It 
is  proclaimed  by  the  laborious  man  to  be 
the  cause  of  his  success,  If  he  has  any 
success  to  boast  of. 

Again,  there  is  a  certain  form  of  charac- 
ter which,  at  the  outset  of  life,  has  little 
or  no  attraction  for  us,  and  which,  to 
say  the  honest  truth,  we  think  Is  rather 
slow. 

I     allude    to     that     peculiarly    felicitous 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  369 

character  which  displays  a  certain  pro- 
portion of  aims,  ends,  and  even  of  affec- 
tions. Ever}'  year  that  we  live  makes  us 
perceive  more  the  beauty  of  such  a  cha- 
racter, and  increases  the  influence  which  it 
silently  acquires  over  us. 

Ag"ain,  we  no  longer  think  that  eloquence 
is  the  first  of  human  gifts.  Alere  wit  and 
sarcasm  also  lose  some  of  their  hold  upon 
us ;  and  even  among  the  m^ost  commonplace 
people  you  will  observe  that,  as  life  advances, 
the  appreciation  of  sound  argument  is  more 
and  more  developed.  They  have  found 
that  the  transactions  in  this  world  are  very 
serious  things ;  and  they  want  to  know 
whether  anybody  can  tell  them  anything 
which  will  make  the  world  go  on  better. 
This  statement  must  not  be  held  to  con- 
tradict what  has  been  said  about  the 
capacity  for  enjoyment  not  diminishing  as 
age  advances.  As  our  years  go  on,  we  do 
not  the  less  delight  in  listening  to  eloquence, 
or  less  appreciate  wit  and  humour.  But, 
secretly,  we  come  to  consider  all  these  things 

£  B 


370  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

as  mere  adjuncts,  and  only  as  very  pntty 
fringe  to  the  real  stuff  of  the  questions  at 
issue.  And,  as  our  time  on  earth  shortens, 
we  are  more  and  more  anxious  to  get,  if 
possible,  at  the  real  substance  of  eveiything 
brought  under  our  consideration. 

There  is  another  very  general  and  very 
important  conclusion  which  most  men  will 
find  that  they  have  arrived  at  in  looking 
back  upon  life.  Tt  is,  that  their  fellow- 
men  are  much  better  fellows  than  from 
history  and  biography  they  appear  to  have 
been,  or,  from  our  first  impressions,  they 
appear  to  be.  The  study  of  history  is,  no 
doubt,  a  most  valuable  and  needful  one. 
But  this  fact  ought  always  to  be  in  the 
mind  of  the  student — namely,  that  history 
chiefly  deals  with  the  outbreaks  of  folly, 
ambition,  and  passion,  which  have  been  so 
frequent  among  mankind.  Taken  by  itself, 
it  gives  a  very  unfair  view  of  human  life. 
A  similar  conclusion  is  to  be  arrived  at 
with  regard  to  the  writings  of  cynical 
philosophers.       A    young    man    reads    his 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  371 

Rochefoucauld,  or  his  Swift,  or  his  Rabelais, 
or  certain  modern  writers  whom  I  could 
mention,  and  is  apt  to  think  that  these 
cynical  philosophers  give  a  just  view  of 
human  life.  In  his  own  talk,  he  shows 
that  he  thinks  it  to  be  a  fine  thing,  and  a 
just  thing,  to  imitate  their  sayings.  But 
all  this  is  mightily  changed  as  he  advances 
in  life;  and,  in  looking  back,  he  is  nearly 
sure  to  become  aware  of  this  change.  He 
is  more  likely,  then,  to  agree  with  the  views 
of  a  certain  defunct  Prime  Minister,  which 
I  believe  I  have  imparted  to  you  before, 
my  brethren  in  council.  A  Prime  Minister 
now  living,  on  entering  into  his  high  office, 
asked  one  of  his  eminent  predecessors  what 
his  experience  of  mankind  had  led  him  to 
conclude  about  them.  The  reply  was  to 
this  effect,  and  nearly,  I  believe,  in  these 
words  :  "  Oh  !  they  are  capital  fellows — much 
better  fellows  than  you  would  imagine;  but 
deuced  vain,  you  know — deuced  vain  !  " 

There    alone    it  will    probably  be  found, 
that    the    most    cynical    writers    have    not 


372  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

exaggerated  when  they  have  toucliecl  upon 
this,  the  principal  faihng  of  mankind — its 
vanity. 

In  looking  back  upon  life,  one  may  per- 
ceive what  changes  life  has  brought  upon 
oneself;  also  what  different  views  one  has 
learnt  to  take  of  other  men,  considered  as 
individuals.  There  still  remains,  however, 
a  very  important  observation  to  be  made 
which  concerns  men  not  viewed  as  indi- 
viduals, but  as  units  in  a  very  complicated 
social  system.  This  part  of  experience,  if 
it  Is  ever  attained,  is  of  the  utmost  value. 
For  Instance,  suppose  you  wish  to  persuade 
a  number  of  men  to  take  a  given  course. 
You  may  have  persuaded  each  one  of  them 
separately ;  but  still  you  cannot  rely  upon 
what  they  will  do  when  they  come  to  con- 
sult, or  to  act,  together. 

Moreover,  even  if  they  should,  in  council 
or  in  action,  go  entirely  with  you  as  a 
body,  the  outer  world  beyond  them  may 
prove  a  great  hindrance  to  their  doing 
what  you  wish,  and  what  they  wish,   espe- 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  3-3 

cially  as  regards  the  time  of  doing  it. 
The  result  of  all  this  complication,  which 
increases  almost  in  exact  proportion  with 
the  increase  of  certain  kinds  of  civilization, 
is  sure  to  be  immense  delay — a  delay  for 
which  the  young,  the  ardent,  and  the  inex- 
perienced seldom  make  due  allowance. 

Probably  the  greatest  disappointment  in 
life  is  the  finding  out,  as  one  does  gra- 
dually, the  enormous  time,  as  it  seems  to 
us,  that  it  takes  to  get  an)'thing  done. 
Almost  every  form  of  organization  goes 
wrong  at  first,  from  the  organizer,  if  he 
be  inexperienced,  supposing  that  every 
person  or  body  concerned  will  act  at  the 
right  time,  namely,  the  time  that  he  has 
set  down  for  their  action.  The  great  skill 
of  great  commanders  will  often  be  found 
to  consist  in  a  keen  appreciation  of  the  dif- 
ficulty of  getting  the  right  thing  done  at 
the  right  time.  Sufficient  allowance  is 
hardly  ever  made  for  such  a  simple  matter 
as  illness — the  illness  of  your  agents  or 
other  subordinates.      And  yet  even   in   the 


37-1  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

arrangements  for  pleasure,  experience  shows 
us  liow  many  defaulters  there  will  be  from 
illness,  when  any  considerable  number  of 
persons  are  to  be  brought  together. 
Moreover,  you  have  to  allow  for  the  un- 
punctuality,  the  laziness,  and  the  disobe- 
dience of  mankind. 

The  final  result  Is,  that,  In  looking  back 
upon  life,  most  men  will  have  to  own  they 
have  made  some  terrible  miscalculations  as 
to  the  length  of  time,  or  rather,  want  of 
speed,  with  which  several  of  their  principal 
objects  in  life  have  been  attained. 

Again,  there  are  other  very  noticeable 
facts  to  be  observed  In  the  conduct  of  men, 
when  they  think  or  act  in  bodies.  Infallibly 
there  enters  much  exaggeration.  You  may 
see  this  in  the  correction  of  any  great 
abuse.  The  movement  Is  seldom  that 
which  would  merely  suffice  to  correct 
the  abuse ;  but  it  is  a  movement  which 
very  often  carries  the  movers  towards 
another  abuse  In  the  contrary  direction. 
The  pendulum  Is  made  to  swing  as  much 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  375 

in  the  opposite  direction  as  it  did  in  the 
one  sought  to  be  neutralized.  You  will 
not  easily  make  bodies  of  men  stop,  when 
and  where  you  want  them  to  stop. 

Another  evil  attendant  upon  the  conduct 
of  large  bodies  of  men,  is  their  sheepish- 
ness.  This  word  is  used  in  its  largest 
signification,  not  as  indicating  timidity  or 
shamefacedness,  but  as  that  most  notable 
instinct  of  the  ovine  race  to  follow  thought- 
lessly and  rushingly  in  whatever  direction 
the  bell-wether  is  pleased  to  lead. them. 

In  the  retrospect,  therefore,  of  life,  you 
will  generally  find  that  neither  for  this  ex- 
aggeration, nor  for  this  sheepishness,  have 
you  made  sufficient  allowance. 

Another  error  which,  in  your  juvenile  days, 
did  much  prevail  with  you,  was  the  belief  that 
other  men,  especially  large  bodies  of  men, 
would  act  in  conformity  with  the  dictates 
of  right  reason ;  whereas  those  disturbing 
elements — feeling,  prejudice,  fancy — play 
an  immense  part  in  human  affairs.  This 
puzzles    pedants ;     and    we    all     begin    by 


376  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

being-   pedants,    pedantry  being   a   peculiar 
attribute  of  the  young. 

Again,  in  looking  back  upon  life,  you  are 
nearly  sure  to  perceive  that  you  have,  at 
one  time  or  other,  thrown  the  weight  of 
your  voice  and  opinion  in  behalf  of  one 
of  two  classes,  from  both  of  whom  your 
maturer  judgment  would  keep  you  clear. 
There  is  an  intense  love  of  an  unreasoning- 
conservatism  in  some  human  breasts.  It  is 
probably  well  that  there  should  be  this 
feeling,  otherwise  the  framework  of  human 
society  might  soon  go  to  pieces.  There  is 
also,  in  another  class  of  minds,  an  intense 
love  of  destructiveness,  or  at  least  of 
change.  Nothing-  is  right  with  them, 
everything  must  be  forthwith  altered  en- 
tirely. The  wittiest  of  modern  French 
writers  has  pictured  the  Conservatives  as 
protesting-  ag-ainst  the  innovation  of  creative 
force.  *'  Mon  Dieu  !  conservons  le  chaos," 
he  has  made  them  say.  On  the  other 
hand,  he  might  have  made  the  destructives 
say,  *'  Mon  Dieu  !   revenons  au  chaos  " 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  377 

There  can  be  little  doubt  that  most 
reflective  men,  in  considering  their  past 
lives,  would  confess  that  they  have,  at  one 
time  or  other,  belonged  to  the  party  of 
chaos — whether  of  the  chaos  to  be  retained 
by  unreasonable  preservation,  or  of  that  to 
be  attained  by  irrational  destruction. 

We  speak  of  the  timidity  of  age ;  but, 
consistently  with  what  has  been  said  before, 
it  may  be  argued  that  timidity  has  not  so 
much  increased  as  circumspection.  What 
fiery  old  generals  there  have  been,  both  in 
modern  and  ancient  times,  whose  daring  has 
equalled  that  of  the  youngest  men  in  their 
armies ! 

There  is  one  portion  of  experience,  from 
which  most  men,  in  looking  back  upon  life, 
derive  some  profit.  They  learn  how  dif- 
ficult it  is  to  make  men  understand  any- 
thing thoroughly — for  instance,  how  needful 
it  is  to  repeat  arguments,  to  bring  them 
home  to  the  hearer  by  various  illustrations, 
and  to  retrace  and  restate  the  course  of  any 
argument  from  the  beginning.   In  youth,  when 


378  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

you  have  stated  anything,  and  the  hearer 
assents,  or  appears  to  assent,  you  are  easily 
satisfied  as  to  his  understandinij  what  has 
been  said.  Experience,  however,  convinces 
you  how  rarely  men. give  undivided  attention 
to  anything  that  is  said  to  them ;  and  you 
find  out  that  the  practice  in  which  lawyers 
indulge,  when  addressing  juries — namely, 
of  repeating  their  arguments  many  times — 
is  requisite  not  only  in  legal  matters,  but 
in  any  question  of  every  -  day  life.  In 
giving  instructions,  for  example,  to  agents 
or  inferiors,  we  learn  by  degrees  that  those 
instructions  must  be  frequently  repeated, 
and  that  we  must  be  assured  beforehand 
that  they  are  thoroughly  understood,  if  we 
wish  them  to  be  completely  acted  upon. 

In  careful  retrospection,  that  element  in 
human  affairs  which  we  call  chance,  seems 
to  have  played  a  great  part  in  our  affairs, 
and,  indeed,  to  have  had  almost  its  own 
way  with  us.  Most  men  will  own  that  the 
main  tenor  of  their  lives  has  been  at  the 
mercy   of    the    most    trivial   circumstances. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  379 

If  they  had  not  crossed  the  road,  at  that 
particular  moment,  if  this  man  had  been 
at  home  when  they  called,  if  that  man  had 
not  met  them  in  the  street,  if  they  had  been 
here,  and  not  there,  when  such  and  such 
a  thing  happened  —  how  different  would 
have  been  their  course  in  life,  how  alto- 
gether changed ! 

I  have  not  cared  to  dwell  upon  any  of 
the  darker  features  of  my  subject  —  to 
describe  the  vain  regrets,  the  sad  longings, 
the  direful  remorses,  which  must  come  to 
most  men  in  looking  back  upon  life.  My 
object  has  mainly  been  to  show  the  changes 
of  thought,  opinion,  and  of  conduct  which 
any  discreet  man  will  be  likely  to  perceive 
in  himself,  when  entering  upon  the  retro- 
spection which  I  have  imagined  for  him. 

It  is  meant  to  be  the  retrospection  of 
ordinary  experience,  and  not  of  secret 
sorrow. 


Ellesmcre.  This  will  be  the  third  time,  I  believe,  in 
the  course  of  our  sojourn  here,  that  I  have  had  to 
mention  to  you  the  ignominious  fact  that  my  intellectual 


3 So  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

capacities  are  limited.  Now,  as  regards  speeches  in 
Parliament,  I  have  generally  found,  that  even  very  able 
speeches  contain  no  more  than  three  or  four  arguments. 
Take  away  the  padding,  and  there  remain  about  four 
telling  sentences  to  answer.  Practical  experience  con- 
vinced me  of  the  truth  of  this  statement.  Some  man 
would  be  making  a  good  speech  which,  from  the  first,  I 
suspected  I  should  have  to  answer,  and  so  I  endeavoured 
to  make  a  careful  analysis  of  it,  as  it  proceeded.  Then, 
perhaps,  would  come  a  whisper  from  the  Prime  Minister, 
or  a  little  note  from  him,  commanding  me  to  reply — 
which  command  of  course  I  obeyed. 

In  looking  over  my  adversary's  speech  next  morning, 
I  rarely  found  that  I  had  understated  the  number  of  his 
arguments.  I  don't  pretend  to  say  that  I  gave  good 
answers  to  all  of  them.  He  might  have  hail  the  better 
case.  My  point  is  to  show  you  the  smallness  of  the 
number.  Now,  in  listening  to  such  an  essay  as  this, 
you  cannot  reduce  the  number  of  argum.ents,  or  at  least 
statements,  to  anything  like  the  number  four.  There 
was  Milverton  with  his  "Again,  and  again,  and  again," 
until  one  hardly  knew  where  one  was. 

Briefly,  it  is  a  fine  day,  let  us  disperse  ourselves;  and 
I,  for  one,  must  have  the  written  essay  lent  to  me  if  I  am 
to  say  anything  about  it  worth  hearing. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

nPHE  other  "  Friends  "  also  took  the  essay 
away  with  them  ;  and,  I  believe,  each 
of  them  read  it  over  separately.  Mr.  Mil- 
verton  and  I  were  therefore  prepared  for  a 
g-reat  deal  of  hostile  criticism  ;  and,  in  this 
respect,  as  the  reader  will  see,  we  were 
not  mistaken.  He  said  to  me,  "  You  may 
be  sure,  Johnson,  that  what  they  will  do, 
will  be  to  point  out  the  number  of  things 
I  have  not  touched  upon.  Critics  will 
hardly  ever  place  themselves  in  the  posi- 
tion of  the  person  whom  they  criticise. 
It  is  in  vain  that  he  tells  them,  '  I  am 
here,  and  not  there.'  They  will  insist  upon 
looking  at  his  work  from  '  there,'  and 
not  'here,'  Now  you  will  see  that  some 
of  them  are  sure  to  say,  '  Why  did  you  not 


382  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

deal  v/ith  the  greater,  the  deeper  parts  of 
the  subject?'  which,  as  you  know,  I  told 
them  at  the  end  of  the  essay  I  expressly 
avoided.  I  did  not  want  to  make  them 
miserable  during  the  last  day  or  two  of 
our  meeting.  Of  course  one  could  make 
any  man  miserable  by  writing  a  deplorable, 
tearful  essay  upon  such  a  painful  subject 
as  looking  back  upon  life.  I  meant,  as  you 
know,  to  show  forth  those  common-sensible 
conclusions  to  which  the  retrospect  of  an 
active  life  (and  they  have  most  of  them 
had  active  lives)  might  lead  them.  I  don't 
mind  telling  you  what  I  think  to  be  the 
truest  part  of  the  essay;  but  it  is  very 
commonplace.  It  Is  what  I  said  about 
delay.  Now  you  are  a  young  fellow.  You 
could  hardly  profit  more  by  the  experience 
of  other  and  older  men,  than  by  getting 
into  your  mind  the  length  of  time  that  it 
takes  to  get  anything  done.  I  assure  you, 
It  Is  only  by  dread  experience  that  I  have 
found  out  this,  and  have  learnt  at  all  to 
prepare  for  it.'* 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  383 

In  the  course  of  the  evening  of  that  day, 
the  "  Friends"  said  that  they  were  ready  to 
discuss  the  essay,  and  the  conversation  thus 
began. 

Sir  Arthur.  What  pleased  me  most  in  the  essay,  is 
the  part  where  Milverton  maintained  that  the  feelings  of 
hope  and  fear,  and  even  of  love,  remain  as  a  constant 
quantity,  or,  at  any  rate,  do  not  largely  diminish.  There 
is  a  little  treatise  of  Jean  Paul  Richter's  to  the  same 
effect — 

"  Ueht  bag  Snimcrcjvuu  itufovcr  ©ctu()le." 

EUesmcre.  German  again  !  [Said  somewhat  whisper- 
ingly.] 

Sir  Arthur.  Now  do  not  be  so  absurd,  Kllesmere,  as 
to  affect  to  despise  the  greatest  literature  of  modern 
times.* 

EUcsmere.  I  don't  despise  it,  Sir  Arthur,  but  I  think 
we  could  do  without  it  sometimes.  However,  do  not  let 
us  quarrel  about  German  literature;  but  let  us  dissect 
the   present  essay.      It   appeared   to   me  to  have  one 

•  Afterwards  Sir  Arthur  read  to  us  the  following  passage,  from 
Jean  Paul's  e;-say  : — 

"  ?Jur  cin  cti'jciS  J&cvj  UHicf))!  iiidit,  afcv  cin  ireitciS  iviib  cjvrpcv :  jciuiJ 
Dercn^en  bie  3a()rc,  bicfcS  bctjneu  fid;  aud." 

"  (Mn  antevntal  ijtaiitt  tcv  SWcnfd)  fid)  vom  ?l(tcr  crfaltct,  ivcil  cr  in 
il)in  blo(3  fur  l)rl)cie  ©Cijcnetdnfcc  cnthcuiicu  faiui,  <x\i  fcld;c,  fcie  il;n 
\il\%a  ertsdrmten." 


384  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

prevailing  fault,  namely,  that  it  contained  the  views  of  a 
thoughtful,  questioning  man;  but  not  tliose  of  the  woiM 
in  gf neral.  Moreover,  it  had  an  air  of  business  about  it. 
For  instance,  all  that  he  said  about  delay  was  just  the 
kind  of  thing  which  a  shrewd  attorney  would  find  out, 
and  would  comment  upon,  in  looking  back  upon  life,  but 
was  not  what  the  ordinary  man  would  discover.  Now 
you  have  alluded  to  the  "  ever-green  "  of  feelings,  to  use 
Jean  Paul's  phrase ;  but  do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that 
there  is  this  "  ever-green  "  as  regards  the  exercise  of  the 
intellectual  faculties  ?  On  the  contrar)',  do  you  not  find 
that  most  men  cease  to  exercise  those  faculties  in  any 
new  direction,  and  that  they  seem  to  be  contented  with 
the  knovt'Iedge  they  have  acquired  in  early  days  ?  Of 
course  I  shall  hear  about  Cato's  having  begun  to  learn 
Greek  at  eighty. 

Milverton.  Let  me  answer  him.  I  contend  that  the 
ordinary  mind  does  not  become  less  active,  but  it  has 
sufficient  food  to  act  upon.  It  is  perpetually  testing  by 
experience  all  that  goes  on  around  it,  and  this  affords 
sufficient  exercise  for  it.  Doubtless,  the  more  vigorous 
minds  learn  new  languages,  pursue  fresh  studies,  and  are 
alvvays  gaining  knowledge. 

Crannicr.  Don't  you  think  he  was  right,  Ellesmeie, 
when  he  said  that,  in  looking  back  upon  life,  one  finds 
that  one  has  gradually  made  a  very  different  estimate,  as 
regards  human  character,  from  that  which  one  began  by 
making — how   one    comes   to   admire   those   cliaractcrs 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  385 

which  in  youth  one  thought  httle  of?  I  thoroughly 
agreed  with  all  that  part  of  the  essay. 

Ellesmere.  Yes,  no  doubt  Cranmer  admires  more  and 
more  the  Blue-Book  element  in  human  nature — the  solid, 
proportionate  man,  as  compared  with  the  brilliant, 
irregular  genius. 

^  Maidroa-cr.  Now  I  think  that  the  greatest  oversight 
in  the  essay  was  this — that  the  essayist  did  not  tell  us 
that,  in  looking  back  on  life,  one  did  not  notice  how  liltle 
either  one's  self,  or  anybody  else  whom  one  knew  well, 
has  really  changed  in  character.  There  is  a  certain  film 
of  varnish  which  covers  over  the  man's  manners,  and  all 
that  he  is  pleased  to  show  of  his  character,  but  the 
underlying  substance  is  the  same. 

Sir  Arthur.  That  is  nearly  the  greatest  scandal  that 
can  be  uttered  against  human  nature,  and  goes  far  to 
deny  what  I  believe  to  be  the  main  purpose  of  human 
life.  It  is  a  commonplace  saying,  and  one  that  I  rather 
wonder  that  such  a  man  as  Mauleverer  should  have 
counter-signed.  An  important  part  of  the  essay  was 
directetl  against  this  pernicious  view.  Did  not  Mil- 
vcrton  show  you,  and  even  Ellesmere  agreed  with  him, 
that  we  become  incomparably  more  tolerant  as  we 
advance  in  life  ?  But  I  should  have  gone  much  farther. 
Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  that  selfishness  is  not  largely 
subdued  as  we  grow  older  ?  Even  the  faults  of 
temper  are  considerably  modified  ;  and,  in  fact,  there 
is  often  a  radical  change  in  the  wliolc  character 
c  c 


3S6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

of  the  man.  Otherwise  what  would  be  the  good  of 
living? 

Ellcsmcre.  I  suppose,  then,  that  avarice  becomes  less 
and  less  predominant. 

Milvcrtoii.  I  do  not  mind  that  sneer  at  all.  After  all, 
avarice  is  not  so  much  a  passion  as  an  occupation,  anil 
that  is  why  it  gains  upon  men  as  they  grow  older.  I 
admit  that  most  men  fear  to  take  up  anything  new.  It 
is  a  great  mistake  ;  but  they  certainly  are  apt  to  believe, 
that  they  have  no  longer  the  capacity  for  new  work. 
And,  then,  that  v.'hich  is  the  besetting  fault  of  human 
nature,  its  indolence,  confirms  them  in  this  view;  and  so 
they  go  on  increasingly  devoting  themselves  to  their  old 
occupations.  That  is  how  I  account  for  the  predomi- 
nance of  avarice,  if  it  is  predominant,  as  we  advance  in 
life. 

Maulaercr.  I  have  been  unlucky,  it  appears,  in  the 
objection  I  have  taken.,  I  .shall  be  more  fortunate,  I 
suppose,  when  I  indicate  my  agreement  with  another 
part  of  the  essay.  I  did  think  that  Milverton  was  right 
in  what  he  said  about  our  discovering  that  men,  when 
acting  in  masses,  were  prone  to  indulge  in  much 
exaggeration.  You  never  can  over-estimate  the  ab- 
surdity of  mankind  when  they  are  collected  together. 
Folly  is  a  contagious  or  infectious  disease  ;  but  wisdom 
is  by  no  means  catching  ;  and  the  abode  of  truth 
is  most  judiciously  placed  at  the  bottom  of  a  very 
deep  well. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  387 

Ellesmere.  I  am  going  to  make  a  remark  which 
ought  to  meet  with  general  approval ;  but  I  suppose  it 
won't,  owing  to  the  captiousness  of  philosophers.  I 
maintain  that  the  thing  which  we  call  temperament  does 
not  alter.  The  sanguine  man  remains  sanguine  still,  the 
desponding  man  desponding  still ;  and  to  bring  my 
statement  close  home,  I  declate  that  I  cannot  see-any 
change  in  the  temperaments  of  my  learned  friends  who 
surround  me. 

Milverion.  I  am  by  no  means  prepared  to  admit  that 
statement,  at  any  rate  without  much  qualification.  I 
admit  that  the  first  impulses  given  by  temperament,  are 
very  similar  throughout  a  man's  life. 

EUesmere.     Then,  so  far,  you  are  with  me. 

Milverion.  But  I  maintain  that  these  impulses  are 
greatly  modified  and  checked  by  experience.  You  do 
not  perceive  this  so  much  in  men's  talk,  as  in  their  action. 
The  sanguine  man,  for  example,  when  a  subject  is 
brought  before  him  in  conversation,  is  apt  to  show  that 
his  temperament  is  still  very  sanguine  ;  but,  give  him  the 
time  which  is  requisite  for  action,  and  he  will  generally 
show  you  that  other  elements  have  entered  into  his 
composition,  which  go  far  to  control  his  naturally  san- 
guine temperament. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  captious,  Milverton, 
but  I  must  say  I  think  there  was  some  truth  in  what 
EUesmere  said  in  an  early  period  in  our  conversation, 
when  he  remarked    that   there  was  an  air  of  business 


3SS  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

about  the  essay.  You  seemed  to  me  studiously  to  avoid 
some  of  the  deeper  parts  of  the  subject. 

Milverton.     Specify. 

Sir  Arthur.  You  did  not  say,  whether,  on  looking 
back  upon  life  the  retrospect  of  sorrow  diminished  or 
increased  sorrowfulness,  and  whether  the  retrospect  of 
joy  contained  much  or  little  joyfulness. 

Milverton.  I  think  that  the  retrospect  of  sorrow  is, 
with  most  persons,  not  very  sorrowful.  They  see  that 
sorrow  is  the  great  improver,  the  great  chastener.  I 
think  that  the  retrospect  of  joy  is  still,  with  most  persons, 
full  of  joyfulness.  I  hold  the  views  of  Horace  as  inter- 
preted by  those  splendid  lines  of  Dryden,  which  I  have 
often  quoted  to  you  as  a  rare  instance  of  a  translation 
exceeding  in  force  and  beauty  the  original. 

Cranmer.     I  don't  remember  them. 

Milverton. 

•'  Be  fair,  or  foul,  or  rain,  or  sliine, 
The  joys  I  have  possessed,  in  spite  of  fate,  are  mine. 
Not  Jove,  himself,  upon  the  past  has  power, 
But  what  has  been,  has  been,  and  I  have  had  my  hour." 

By  the  way,  I  think  Dryden  the  greatest  writer  of 
English  we  have  ever  had. 

Sir  Arthur.     I  am  inclined  to  agree  with  you. 

Milverton.  But  I  have  something  to  say  to  you 
touching  the  general  subject,  which  I  think  will  be  new 
to  you,  and  which  will  account  to  you  for  my  not  having 
touched  upon  what  you  call  the  deeper  parts  of  the  subject. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  389 

I  think  that  in  considering  all  these  matters,  and 
many  other  matters  too,  the  question  of  memory  plays  a 
large  part.  I  begin  by  asserting,  contrary  to  the  opinion 
of  the  world,  that  all  great  people  have  great  memories. 
Such  at  least  has  been  my  experience.  Without  any 
exception,  all  the  eminent  statesmen  I  have  worked  with 
and  under,  have  possessed  powers  of  memory  far  superior 
to  those  of  the  average  of  mankind.  I  cannot  see  how 
it  can  be  otherwise.  A  good  memory,  as  I  take  it,  is 
the  result  of  the  impression  made  at  the  time  by  any 
incident  aftecting  the  remembering  person.  The  prin- 
cipal difference  between  men  of  much  faculty  and 
ordinary  men  is,  ihat  the  former  are  more  impressible 
and  give  more  profound  attention  to  all  they  see  or  hear. 
Attention  is,  in  my  belief,  the  main  part  of  genius. 

Sir  Arthur.     So  far  I  am  with  you. 

Milverton.  I  proceed  to  show  you  how  this  power 
of  memory  acts  upon  the  moral  qualities.  Mark  you,  it 
is  by  no  means  altogether  a  blessing.  It  forms  the  basis 
of  all  revengeful  feelings.  It  is  easy  for  the  man  of 
a  loose,  careless,  unholding  memory,  to  forgive  :  it 
is  very  difficult  for  a  person  of  steadfast  memory  to 
forgive.  I  quite  understand  the  saying  of  Queen  Eliza- 
beth to  the  Countess  of  Nottingham,  "  (lod  may  fc:give 
you  :  I  cannot."  Elizabeth  had  a  very  potent  memory. 
To  such  persons  the  original  injury  comes  back,  years 
after,  with  the  freshness  of  feeling  as  on  the  day  upon 
which  it  was  endureil ;    while,  to  the  persons   of   poor 


3yo  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

memory,  the  original  transaction  coines  back  in  a  very 
blurred  and  indistinct  manner. 

Now  the  conduct  of  these  two  different  sets  of  people 
must  be  very  dissimilar. 

After  what  I  have  said  in  favour  of  people  who  possess 
great  memories,  it  may  seem  a  boastful  thing  for  me  to 
say  tliat  I  have  a  great  memory,  but  it  is  a  fact.  Now, 
as  we  have  said  before  several  times  in  this  conversation, 
let  us  bring  the  matter  home.  We  will  imagine,  though 
it  is  a  great  stretch  of  imagination,  that  Ellesmere  has 
said  something  very  rude  to  me  years  ago,  and  that  we 
approached  to  something  like  a  quarrel.  Of  course 
nothing  of  the  kind  has  ever  happened,  but  we  will 
imagine  it.  If  the  fact  returns  to  the  recollection  of 
both  of  us,  how  different  will  be  our  feelings  !  With  me 
the*  thing  is  as  vivid  as  if  it  occurred  yesterday,  ^^'ith 
Ellesmere  the  thing  comes  back  in  a  very  blurred  and 
defective  form  ;  and  he  especially  takes  care  to  forget  the 
sharpest  parts  of  his  rudest  sayings.  What  immense 
merit  there  is  in  nie  if  I  continue  to  forgive,  though  I  do 
not  forget  one  tithe  or  tittle  of  the  original  offence  ! 

Elhsmere.  ^^'hat  a  grand  fellow  he  is  making  himself 
out  to  be !  Not  that  he  does  forgive,  for  you  must 
have  observed  there  was  an  important  "if"  in  the  case. 

Milverton.  In  all  that  I  have  hitherto  said  on  the 
subject  of  memory,  I  was  only  preparing  you  for  wliat  I 
am  going  to  say.  I  avoided  what  you  call  the  deep 
parts  of  the  subject,  because  I  felt  that  in  an  essay  I 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  391 

could  not  sufficiently  explain  the  views  which  I  look, 
upon  those  parts. 

Now,  in  considering  the  effect  of  retrospection,  as 
regards  past  joys  or  sorrows,  you  must  see  how  much 
depends  upon  the  vividness  with  which  they  recur  to  the 
remembering  person. 

Then  comes  in  the  question  of  temperament.  The 
man  of  a  joyful,  sanguine  temperament  is  again  delighted 
with  the  joyful  subjects  of  remembrance.  The  man  of  a 
morbid,  self-condemning,  others-condemning  tempera- 
ment, dwells  upon  the  melancholy  portions  of  his  past 
life.  And  so  the  question,  whether,  in  looking  back 
upon  life,  joyful  or  sorrowful  remembrance  predominates, 
is  complicateil  by  these  two  disturbing  elements  of 
memory  and  temperament.  Hence  I  feared  to  make 
any  general  statement  on  the  subject,  perceiving  how 
likely  it  was  to  be  erroneous,  if  all  these  refinements 
were  not  adequately  considered.  Have  I  justified 
myself? 

Sir  Arthur.  I  think  you  have  ;  and  I  admit  that  1 
have  never  taken  these  two  elements  into  consideration. 

Milvcrton.  It  has  always  appeared  to  me,  that  in 
treating  of  moral  subjects,  those  are  the  elements  that 
have  been  most  neglected.  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  in 
what  temperament  consists.  Great  physiologists  might 
be  able  to  tell  us  something  of  the  subject ;  but  we 
unscientific  persons  cannot  do  so. 

I  was  very  much  struck  by  some  i)h)siological  cxpcii- 


392  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

ments  Avhich  I  rend  of  some  time  ago,  whereby  it  seemed 
to  be  proved,  that  sensations  and  impressions  of  all 
kinds  were  conveyed  to  the  brain  of  one  man  much 
quicker  than  to  that  of  another.  We  are  apt  to  judge  ot 
character  by  what  we  suppose  to  be  the  essential  attri- 
butes, such  as,  Avhether  it  is  an  ill-disposed,  or  well- 
disposed,  an  amiable  or  unamiable  character ;  but  we 
seldom  consider  the  pace  at  which  all  the  emotions  ol 
the  mind  proceed  in  different  human  beings. 

Ellcstiicre.  This  is  all  too  recondite  for  me,  and  the 
examples  given  are  almost  impossible  ones  for  me  to 
imagine.  I  never  could  have  dared  to  be  rude  to 
Milverton,  of  whom  I  stand  in  so  much  awe,  and  there- 
fore, with  my  poor  powers  of  imagination  and  of  memory, 
I  cannot  tell  what  would  happen  if  an  imaginary  instance 
of  rudeness  on  my  part  were  to  be  brought  to  his  recol- 
lection and  to  mine.  You  may  all  laugh  ;  but  your 
laughing  does  not  endow  me  with  accurate  remembrance, 
or  with  the  splendid  powers  of  his  imagination. 

Hitherto  what  I  have  said  has  not  been  well  received  : 
but  I  am  going  to  make  an  assertion  now,  which  none 
of  you  can  gainsay. 

In  looking  back  upon  life  you  must  admit  that  nearly 
everybody  is  discontented  with  his  own  avocation, 
whatever  it  may  be.  Now  that  would  have  been  a  fiict 
well  worth  noting.  You  doubt  it,  do  you  ?  Why,  each 
one  of  you  has  confessed  to  me  his  dissatisfaction  with 
his  own  career. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  393 

Cranmcr.  That  is  not  exactly  the  point,  Ellesmeie. 
You  said  with  his  "  avocation,"  not  with  his  "  career." 

Elksmere.  Right  :  I  will  take  you  one  by  one. 
Milverton  thinks  that  his  gift  is  the  gift  of  speech :  and 
that  he  ought  to  have  been  in  the  House  of  Commons. 
As  he  is  a  persuasive  kind  of  fellow,  and  is  versed  in  all 
the  arts  of  compromise,  I  dare  say  he  would  have  carried 
a  bill  through  the  House  of  Commons  with  considerable 
skill.  I  can  hear  him  declaring  that  a  clause  composed 
by  him  would  exactly  meet  the  opposing  views  of 
all  his  opponents,  whether  friends  or  foes.  But, 
good  Heavens,  how  he  would  have  mourned  over  his 
occupation  !  No  time  for  thought :  no  time  for  writing  : 
no  time  for  acquiring  knowledge.  I  am  becoming,  he 
would  say,  one  of  the  most  brutally  ignorant  men  in  the 
<"ountry. 

Sir  Art/ncr.     Milverton  is  silent 

Ellcsmcre.  Yes  :  he  has  some  gleams  and  glimpses  of 
honesty  left.  Now,  for  you,  Sir  Arthur.  Do  you 
remember  walking  with  me  up  that  hill  near  Springfield 
farm,  when  you  told  me  that  statesmanship  was  a 
thankless  affair?  You  had  once  a  hand  in  two  or 
three  great  measures  ;  but  nobody  gave  you  any  credit 
for  them.  If,  howev  r,  you  had  but  given  to  the  world 
that  new  edition  of  Aristotle,  which  was  always  in  your 
mind,  with  copious  notes,  (of  course,  from  the  German,) 
and  with  an  account  of  the  various  theories  of  ethics  and 
metaphysics    that   had   prevailed   since  Aristotle's   lime, 


394  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

yoa  would  have  done  something  which  the  world  would 
not  wiUingly  let  die. 

Cranmcr.     Sir  Arthur  is  silent. 

EUesnure.  It"  any  of  you  dare  to  interru]>t,  I  shall 
take  him  01*  her  in  hand  immediately.  Now  there  is 
Cranmer.  He  can  make  a  wonderful  likeness  of  that 
gate-post,  which  is  \isible  from  the  window  there.  And 
he  said  to  me,  (it  is  true  it  was  some  years  ago,  but  that 
does  not  vary  the  matter)  that  the  minor  people  in 
parliamentary  official  life  had  little  or  no  credit  given  to 
them  for  their  great  labours.  He  wished  he  had  been 
firmer  with  his  father  when  he  (Cranmer)  proposed  to 
become  an  artist.  He  thought  he  should  have  been 
a  faithful  one  at  least :  and  you  should  have  heard  how 
eloquent  he  was,  when  he  said  that  the  works  of  an 
artist  were  delightful  to  future  generations — that  they 
elicited  from  those  generations  the  same  great  thoughts 
that  had  pervaded  the  artist's  mind  while  he  was  making 
his  pictures ;  and,  in  short,  that  Titian  was  the  man  of 
the  past  the  most  to  be  envied. 

Lady  EUesmcrc.     i\Ir.  Cranmer  is  silent. 

EUesmere.  I  can  see  that  my  lady  wishes  to  know 
what  I  can  say  about  her;  otherwise  she  would  not  have 
interrupted  me.  Her  idea  of  life  is  to  be  a  hospital 
nurse.  She  attends  some  hospital  once  a  fortnight :  and 
I  reserve  all  my  domestic  difficulties  for  that  day.  She 
comes  back  thoroughly  pleased  with  herself,  and,  there- 
fore, with  me.      On  that  day,  she  is  good  enough   to 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE,  595 

remember  that  important  third  vow  in  the  words  "  love, 
honour,  and  obey,"  of  which  she  is  somewhat  obUvious 
on  the  other  thirteen  days.  On  that  day  Cato  is  allowed 
to  come  in  after  dinner  to  see  me.  What  wonderful 
creatures  dogs  are !  Cato  knows  "  hospital  day "  as 
well  as  I  do  ;  and  howls  furiously  if  there  is  any  delay  in 
letting  him  free  to  enter  the  dining-room.  Then,  too,  he 
has  some  distant  sense  of  how  he  ought  to  behave  to 
Mildred.  He  su[>poses  her,  foolish  dog,  to  be  a  friend 
of  mine ;  and,  therefore,  somebody  to  whom  a  certain 
attention  must  be  paid,  though  he  well  knows  that  she 
does  not  very  much  like  him.  Accordingly,  after 
exuberant  demonstrations  to  me,  he  politely  puts  his 
big  paws  upon  her  lap,  and  looks  up  into  her  face.  She 
receives  his  attention  with  some  timidity  for  herself,  and 
much  fearfulness  for  her  gown.  But  it  is  very  good  of 
her  to  endure  him  at  all.  Oh  !  you  have  no  idea  how 
agreeable  Lady  Ellesmere  is — on  hospital  days. 

Lady  Ellesmere,  Well,  you  can't  say  anything  about 
my  sister.  She  is  thoroughly  contented  with  her  lot  in 
life. 

Ellesmere.  The  most  discontented  of  all  of  you  !  I 
once  had  the  honour  of  travelling  abroad  with  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Milverton.  We  came  to  one  of  the  vast  hotels  in 
Switzerland.  The  weather  was  rainy.  Milverton  and  I, 
nevertheless,  made  excursions— she  remained  at  the 
hotel,  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  Madame  Ulanchard, 
the  manager  of   the  establishment.      You   should   have 


396  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

heard  how  Mrs.  Milvcrton  lauded  that  woman,  and 
envied  her  lot.  I  could  see  that  Mrs.  Milverton's  ideal 
of  life  was  to  be  at  the  head  of  some  great  concern  like 
this  hotel,  in  which  avocation  all  the  powers  of  organiza- 
tion which  she  possesses,  and  her  husband  talks  about, 
would  have  a  fitting  field.  She  spoke  with  a  kind  of 
enthusiasm  of  the  number  of  cooks  and  laundry-maids 
employed.  She  would  kindly  have  allowed  Milverton 
to  be  the  nominal  master  of  the  hotel ;  but  precious 
little  interference  would  have  been  permitted  on  his 
part. 

I  said  that  it  was  wet  weather  when  we  first  came  to 
the  hotel :  "Just  showery,  showery,  wi'  rain  between,"  as 
a  Scotch  gillie  said  to  a  friend  of  mine,  justifying  his 
Scotch  weather  to  the  English  mind.  Well,  then,  it 
brightened  up,  and  an  excursion  was  proposed  to  some 
place  ending  with  the  word  "  horn."  Notwithstanding 
it  was  fine,  Mrs.  Milverton  declined  to  go  with  us, 
making  several  rambling  and  vague  excuses.  I  saw 
through  it  at  once.  IMilverton  did  not.  Husbands  do 
not  always  understand  their  wives.  After  we  had  left, 
I  asked  our  guide  whether  soniething  was  not  going 
to  happen  at  the  hotel. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  he  said ;  "  the  bishop  is  coming,  and  all 
his  clergy.  It  is  the  confirmation;  my  Aunchen  is  to 
be  confirmed." 

"  And  Madame  Blanchard  will  be  very  busy,  will  she 
not?" 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  397 

"  Yes,"  he  replied,  "  the  old  lady  is  in  a  dreadful  way. 
There  are  thirty  more  beds  wanted,  and  more  than 
seventy  new  people  are  expected  at  the  table-d'hote  to- 
day." 

I  felt  sure  that  this  was  the  reason  why  Mrs.  Milverton 
would  not  accompany  us.  Her  pleasure  was  to  see 
what  arrangements  the  clever  Madame  would  make  to 
meet  the  difficulty,  and  perhaps  to  assist  her  by  sugges- 
tions. This  was  more  interesting  to  Mrs.  Milverton 
than  going  to  any  number  of  Horns,  Avhatever  grandeur 
of  view  might  be  seen  from  them;  but  Milverton  could 
not  make  it  out  at  all :  dense  mortal ! 

There  is  no  audible  dissent  from  Mrs.  Milverton. 

I  shall  dispose  of  Mauleverer  in  a  single  sentence. 
He  has  not  had  any  active  occupation  :  but  he  once 
said  to  me,  that  he  wished  he  had  been  more  actively 
employed  in  life,  as  it  would  have  enabled  him  to 
observe  more  closely  the  large  and  continuous  folly  of 
mankind. 

Lady  EilestJicre.  What  about  yourself,  mj-  dear?  You 
are,  as  w-e  all  know,  the  most  contented  of  mankind. 

Ellesmere.  No :  I  am  not.  I  should  like  to  have 
been  a  country  gentleman — not  one  widi  a  great  estate ; 
but  what  the  French  call  a  Jlobcnaii,  and  what  the  Irish 
call  a  Squireen.  I  am  the  most  unscikntary  of  men  ; 
and  have  been  condemned  to  a  sedentary  life.  How  I 
should  have  enjoyed  going  about  with  my  dogs,  and 
visiting  my  pigs  and  my  cattle  1 


398  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Lady  Eltcsmae.  It  is  true.  This  is  one  of  John's 
dreams  ;  and  he  often  inflicts  upon  me  long  tirades  as  to 
the  happiness  to  be  found  in  this  squireen  life.  He  is 
pleased  to  forget,  that  he  would  have  spoken  rudely  ot 
the  clergyman's  sermons ;  that  he  would  have  had 
a  quarrel  with  the  churchwardens;  that  he  would  have 
made  himself  odious  to  the  other  vestrymen ;  that  he 
would  have  had  a  dispute,  carried  through  all  the  courts, 
with  the  greater  squire  about  boundaries,  or  game ;  and 
that,  after  we  had  been  in  this  abode  of  bliss  for  about  a 
year  and  a  half,  there  would  not  have  been  a  single 
neighbour  who  would  have  come  near  us.  He  would 
then  have  quarrelled  with  me.  Distinctly  foreseeing  this 
event,  I  have  always  set  my  face  against  this  Hobcreaic 
or  Squireen  scheme.  I  admit  tliat  I  am  fond  of  doing 
what  I  can  to  relieve  the  sufferings  of  the  poor  people  in 
the  hospitals.  Indeed,  it  is  probable  that  I  have  some 
skill  in  nursing,  seeing  that  I  have  always  had  the  care 
of  one  Incurable. 

Eilesmcre.  We  have  none  of  these  nasty  sarcasms  on 
the  days  when  she  attends  her  hospital. 

But  now,  without  any  joking,  is  it  not  really  singulai 
that,  with  a  number  of  such  differently  constituted  men 
and  women  as  we  are,  it  does  appear  that  not  one  of 
us  is  thoroughly  satisfied  with  his,  or  her,  vocation  ? 

I  have  often  heard  Milverton  say,  when  he  has  been 
praising  proverbs,  that  one  of  the  most  curious  facts 
connected  with   literature,  is,  that  no  historical  record 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  309 

remains  regarding  tlie  authorship  of  these  priiverbs.  1 
am  going  to  make  a  proverb  which  -will  sum  up  the 
whole  of  our  recent  discourse  ;  .and  I  beg  to  be  remem- 
bered, as  the  auihor  of  this  proverb.  It  is,  Every  man 
believes  that  every  other  man's  bread  and  butter  is  nicer 
than  his  own.      I  have  noticed  this  fact  a  hundred  limes. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  must  confess  that  Ellesmere  has  made 
a  good  point.  What  he  says  is  borne  out  by  the  fact 
which  I  myself  have  noticed — viz.  :  that  not  one  fatlier 
in  a  hundred  is  pleased  at  any  of  his  sons  adopting  the 
profession,  or  calling,  in  which  he,  the  father,  has  been 
employed.  That,  too,  notwithstanding  that  the  father 
may  have  been  very  successful  in  the  profession  or 
calling. 

Milvcrtou.  It  is  a  very  melancholy  fact,  if  it  be  a 
fact — I  mean  what  Ellesmere  has  been  asserting — and 
yet  there  is  something  grand  about  it  too. 

Ellesmere.  Yes,  Milverton  always  finds  out  something 
very  delightful  in  the  most  discouraging  facts. 

Milverlon.  You  see  every  nian,  being  an  immortal 
creature,  imagines  a  greater  s|)here  of  usefulness  for 
himself,  than  any  which  he  fulfils,  however  well  he  may 
fulfil  it,  in  this  life.  The  discontent  is  merely  the 
discontent  of  a  being  who  is  too  large  in  his  aims  and 
hopes,  to  find  any  full  employment  for  them  on  this 
earth. 

Sir  Arthur.  1  don't  think  I  c^uite  appreciated  what 
you  said,  at  the  beginning  of  the  essay,  about  our  coming 


400  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

to  understand  the  tritest  sayings,  and  Uie  full  meaning  of 
\'rovoi"bs. 

Milvcrton.  Let  me  give  you  instances  of  what  I 
meant,  though,  I  dare  say,  I  sliall  not  be  able  to  gi\'C 
good  ones,  nothing,  at  least,  equal  to  Ellesmere's.  For 
when  one  endeavours  to  recall  any  portion  of  that  vast 
body  of  anonymous  literature,  the  proverbial,  one  seldom 
is  happy  in  the  selection.  "  More  haste,  worse  speed  ; " 
"The  half  is  greater  than  the  whole;"  "The  absent  are 
always  in  the  wrong  ; "  "  Nobody  knows  where  the  shoe 
pinches,  but  the  wearer,"  are  all  of  them  proverbial 
sayings,  of  which,  in  looking  back  upon  life,  one  learns 
the  full  value. 

Still,  I  have  not  hit  upon  any  one  proverb  which  fully 
illustrates  my  meaning.  In  looking  over  this  old 
library  I  found  a  collection  of  proverbs.  Here  it  is ; 
and  I  will  try  whether  I  can  find  any  one  that  will  be 
exactly  suitable  for  my  purpose.  The  first  thing  I  come 
upon  is  very  good,  but  is  not  exactly  what  I  want.  It  is 
from  the  Italian.  "  He  commands  enough,  who  obeys  a 
wise  man." 

The  next  is  better — "  He  that  hath  a  fellow-ruler, 
hath  an  over-ruler."  That,  I  think,  was  first  said  by 
Pope  Sixtus  v.,  when  he  found  his  College  of  Cardinals 
to  be  very  troublesome ;  and  he  put  the  saying  in  this 
way :  "  He  that  has  partners  has  masters."  It  take? 
some  time,  and  some  knowledge  of  life,  before  one 
discovers  the  full  force  of  that  proverb. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  401 

The  next  one  is  still  better  for  my  purpose :  "  The 
offender  never  pardons."  I  suppose  something  of  that 
kind  has  been  said  in  all  languages,  and  how  true  it  is ! 
Not  taken  literally,  of  course  :  no  proverb  is  absolutely 
true ;  but  all  experience  of  life  shows  that  it  is  the  one 
v/ho  gives  the  offence,  with  whom  it  is  most  difficult  to 
make  up.  The  reason,  too,  is  obvious.  The  offending 
man  is  secretly  very  angry  with  himself,  and  he  has  to 
forgive  both  you  and  himself — himself  for  having  been 
unreasonable,  and  you  for  having  been  in  the  way  when 
he  was  unreasonable. 

EUesmere. '  Please  give  me  the  book ;  I  shall  f.nd 
something  good  in  it,  I  have  no  doubt. 

"  As  the  good  man  saith,  so  say  we ; 
Jjut  as  the  good  won'.an  saith,  so  it  must  be." 

"  As  great  pity  to  see  a  woman  weep,  as  a  goose  go 
bare-foot."  "  Marry  in  haste,  and  repent  at  leisure  '' 
is,  of  course,  the  proverb  that  would  be  more  suitable 
to  Milverton's  purpose. 

Lady  Ellesincre.  Please  take  the  book  from  John, 
and  shut  it  up.  It  is  clear  that  most  of  the  proverbs 
in  the  workl  have  been  made  by  men,  and  are  a  very 
one-sided  performance. 

MilvertoJi.  But,  before  v/e  leave  this  proverbial 
subject,  don't  you  see  what  I  meant :  that  what  is 
commonplace  and  trite,  is  the  thing  that  we  find  out  to 
be  true  ? 

Sir  Arl/nir.  Well,  you  know,  Milverton,  it  is  the 
D  D 


402  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

same  thing  with  Shakespeare,  I  have  observed  that  the 
young  persons  who  have  much  force  and  honesty  of 
mind,  seldom  appreciate  their  Shakespeare.  They  are 
apt  to  think  him  an  over-rated  man  ;  but  the  admiration 
for  Shakespeare  goes  on  steadily  growing  as  we  advance 
in  life, 

Milvaion.  That  bears  out  my  view,  Sir  Arthur. 
The  quantity  of  conmion  sense  expressed  by  Shakespeare 
is  amazing — also  what  is  commonplace  and  trite,  only 
it  is  brought  in  so  well,  and  is  so  admirably  worded,  that 
you  hardly  perceive  the  triteness  and  the  commonplaced- 
ness,  A  volume  of  proverbs  might  be  made  out  ot 
Shakespeare's  v.orks. 

EUcsmcre.  Now  I  am  going  to  show  you,  Milverton, 
where  you  exaggerated  greatly.  It  was  where  you  said 
that  the  individual  had  the  power  to  injure  his  fellow- 
men  to  a  fearful  extent. 

Milvaion.  You  have  hit  a  blot,  I  felt,  as  I  was 
reading,  that  my  words  at  that  point  were  not  suffi- 
ciently guarded.  What  I  meant,  and  ought  to  have 
expressed,  was,  that  the  individual,  in  his  own  circle,  in 
his  own  possible  sphere  of  action,  had  a  huge  power 
of  doing  mischief  Of  course  tlie  circle  of  Hodge,  the 
farm-labourer,  is  a  very  ditierent  one  from  that  of  mighty 
conquerors,  or  great  statesmen ;  but  in  his  circle,  ol 
whatever  circumference  U  may  be,  a  man  has  great 
I^ower  for  good  or  for  evil. 

EUcsmere.     Let  this  day  be  marked  with  the  whitest 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  403 

of  chalk,  for  an  author  has  confessed  himself  to  be  in  the 
wrong,  and  his  critic  in  the  right. 

Cranma:  I  liked  what  you  said  about  misrepre- 
sentation, Milverton.  My  experience  goes  with  yours  : 
I  never  met  with  a  man  who  bore  misrepresentation  with 
thorough  calmness  and  complacency. 

Milverto7i.  Nor  I,  and  I  will  venture  to  say  that 
there  are  thousands  of  persons  of  all  ranks  explaining 
to  others,  at  this  moment,  that  they  and  tlieir  doings, 
or  sayings,  have  been  misrepresented.  It  forms  a  large 
part  of  the  talk  of  the  world. 

EUesmere.  I  have  only  one  more  remark  to  make  ; 
but  it  is  a  very  serious  one.  I  believe  that  you  were 
entirely  wrong  when  you  asserted  that,  as  we  advanced 
in  life,  we  were  less  captivated  by  eloquence,  that  we 
more  and  more  respected  solid  qualities,  and  less  and 
less  esteemed  brilliant  qualities;  that  the  justly  pro- 
portionate character  was  the  one  for  which  we  finally 
reserved  our  admiration;  and  the  like.  This  is  all  unreal 
stuff.  It  comes  fro'in  an  author's  considering  what  is 
right  to  be  said,  and  what  is  best  to  be  said,  and  not 
what  is  the  fact. 

Milverton.  This  is  rather  strong  language,  is  it 
not? 

Elksmcrc.  Not  too  strong.  One  of  the  principal 
characteristics  of  the  late  Lord  Lytton's  writings,  is  11 
certain  depth  of  worltlly  shrewdness,  wliich  is  occa- 
sionally   revealed    in    them.      I    remember    once    being 


404  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

singularly  struck  by  an  observation  of  his,  which  rather 
counteracts  ^vhat  Master  Milvcrton  has  said.  Lord 
Lytton  arserted  that  it  was  the  liveliest  of  the  young 
Mho  received  the  largest  bequests  from  the  middle-aged, 
or  the  old.  This  assertion  opens  a  vista  of  contradiction 
to  Milverton's  sayings.  We  do  not  admire  or  love,  or  •> 
even  fully  appreciate  the  results,  when  embodied  in  other 
persons,  of  our  own  experience  in  life. 

Milvaion.  I  can  make  no  answer  to  this  statement. 
I  can  only  say  that,  for  my  own  part,  I  more  and  niore 
admire  and  appreciate  what  I  have  called  the  justly 
proportionate  charifcter,  and  that  I  only  said  what  I 
thought,  and  was  not  looking  out  for  the  proper  things 
to  say. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  must  own,  Milverton,  that  I  think 
there  is  a  great  deal  of  truth  in  what  Ellesmere  has 
saiil :  and,  if  I  may '  be  allowed  to  make  the  remark, 
I  should  say  that  there  was  a  little  inconsistency 
between  your  assertion  that  our  passions,  our  aflections, 
and  our  feelings  of  joy  and  sorrow  do  not  much 
diminish  as  age  advances,  and  your  assertion  that  we 
learn  to  appreciate  the  solid  qualities  more  and  more, 
and  what  is  brilliant  less  and  less. 

Milverton.  I  fliil  to  see  the  inconsistency.  I  delight 
in  wit,  in  brilliancy  of  every  kind  ;  but  I  fancy  (it  may 
be  an  arrogant  fancy)  that  I  put  these  qualifications 
into  their  proper  places,  and  have  learnt  to  admire  othei 
qualifications  more  than  I  used  to  do. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  405 

I  do  not  appreciate  EUesmere's  wit  less  than  I  formerly 
did  ;  but  when  he  condescends  to  be  sensible  and  judi- 
cious, as  well  as  witty,  I  estimate  more  and  more  these 
intervals  of  solid  and  sound  thought. 

EUesincre.  After  this,  pray  do  not  let  us  have  any 
more  talk.  He  is  sure  to  spoil  this  compliment,  if  it 
be  a  compliment,  should  we  provoke  him  to  add  anothei 
word. 

Milverion.  No  ;  I  have  something  more  to  add. 
As  I  have  said  again  and  again,  I  endeavoured,  during 
the  essay,  to  keep  somewhat  clear  of  the  greater,  at  any 
rate,  of  the  more  painful,  subjects  which  would  naturally 
recur  to  any  one  on  looking  back  upon  life.  One  of  my 
main  objects  was  to  insist  upon  the  fact  that  very  com- 
monplace verities  acquire  a  singular  significance  from  our 
own  personal  experience,  and  indeed  remove  themselves 
from  the  cloudland  of  other  people's  experience  to  the 
hard  and  dry  land  of  our  own.  The  foregoing  is  a  sort 
of  apology  for  bringing  forward  a  very  trite  matter  which 
every  one  supposes  that  he  already  understands.  I 
allude  to  the  fact  that  corporate  bodies  and  assemblages 
of  men  of  all  kinds  are  curiously  devoid  of  conscience. 
Sayings,  embodying  this  statement,  liave  almost  passed 
into  proverbs.  But,  as  I  have  shown  to  be  the  'case 
with  proverbs  generally,  the  particular  proverbs  in 
question  have  seldom  made  any  impression  on  any  one's 
mind,  until,  in  the  course  of  an  aclive  life,  he  has  found 
them  to  apply  to  himself. 


4o6  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

This,  however,  was  not  what  1  chielly  intended  to  set 
before  you.  It  is  a  matter  of  much  more  subtle  experi- 
ence, but  still  of  sure  experience,  to  which  I  wish  to 
draw  your  attention. 

Elksinere.  I  wonder  what  is  coming  after  this  elabo- 
rate prelude. 

Milverion.  It  is  not  only  that  these  bodies,  acting 
as  bodies  in  their  corporate  capacity,  will  do  very  unjust 
things — such  things  as  no  individual  amongst  them  would 
do  if  he  were  acting  for  himself;  but  that  when  a 
member  of  a  corporate  body  acts  as  its  representative, 
he  is  often  found  to  be  as  devoid  of  conscience  as  the 
said  corporate  body.  This,  by  the  way,  not  unfrequently 
applies  to  the  representatives  of  the  highest  bodies 
— even  to  those  who  represent  governments.  And, 
again,  looking  at  the  whole  subject  of  personal  repre- 
sentation, you  will  nearly  always  find  that  the  represen- 
tative hardens  his  heart  against  all  those  considerations 
of  pity,  tenderness,  and  forbearingness,  which  would 
have  some  weight,  and  ought  to  have  some  weight,  with 
the  persons  represented.  This  is  a  result  which  is 
hardly  to  be  arrived  at,  except  by  personal  experience  ; 
and  it  is  one  of  the  conclusions  that  thoughtful  rnen 
come  to  in  looking  back  on  life. 

EUesmere.  Moral :— I  am  always  making  the  morals 
for  Milverton's  fables,  if  I  may  call  them  so — Never  deal 
with  representatives,  if  you  can  manage  to  get  near  the 
principals. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  407 

Milvcrton.  Yes,  that  is  exactly  it :  and  the  moral  is 
a  Yery  important  one.  Tlie  young  often  fear  to  deal^ 
with  the  principal,  and  think  they  should  manage  much 
better  in  dealing  with  the  representative ;  but  this  is  an 
entire  delusion. 

And  here  I  leave  this  part  of  the  subject. 

EHesmere.  Sandy,  some  time  ago,  was  very  angry 
because  I  said  his  chi^f  was  a  despot,  and  that  he, 
of  course,  took  the  hue  of  his  despotic  master's 
mind. 

Now,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  a  silent  despotism. 

Observe  how  we  have  all  kept  to  social  subjects  merely 
because  Milverton  told  us  that  much  good  time  had  been 
wasted  in  considering  the  ballot  question,  which  time 
might  have  been  so  delightfully  spent  in  considering 
drains  and  sewers,  foul  air,  foul  water,  and  adulterated 
food. 

I  consider  that  Sir  Arthur's  essays,  Mauleverer's,  and 
my  own,  have  all  fought  shy  of  politics,  and  have  been 
devoted  to  such  social  subjects  as  Intiusiveness,  Over- 
Publicity,  Hospitality,  Vulgarity,  Ridicule,  and  the 
Uniform  extent  of  human  folly  in  all  generations. 

O'anmcr.  I  am  fated  to  take  excej;lion  to  any 
general  statement  of  Ellesmere's.  Did  not  Milverton  in 
one  of  his  essays  dwell  upon  the  difllcult  question  of  the 
improvement  of  government  bills  ? 

EUesvicrc.  YoiT  simple  man  !  Did  you  not  see  that 
he  did  not  care  a  farthing  about  your  political  bills?  lie 


4o8  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

was  anxious  to  add  the  superfluous  wisdom  of  permanent 
officials  to  parliamentary  wisdom,  only  when  considering 
bills  which  bear  on  social  questions. 

Afili<erton.  Where  is  the  pressure  nowadays  ?  Is  it 
for  political  reform  ?  Not  much  of  that.  But  the 
pressure  for  reform  in  social  matters  is  strong  and  conti- 
nuous from  all  the  sensible  people  in  this  realm. 

Ellesmar.  Now,  Sandy,  if  you  ever  make  use  of  our 
essays  and  lucubrations,  take  this  as  your  title  for  them, 
"Social  Pressure."  It  is  vague  j  sounds  important ;  does 
not  tell  too  much ;  and,  at  any  rate,  it  keeps  clear  of 
politics.  You  need  not  say  from  whom  the  pressure 
comes  :  each  reader  will  suppose  that  it  comes  from 
himself. 

Milverton.  And  so  it  ought  to  come  ;  for,  you  may 
depend  upon  it,  social  subjects  are  those  which,  at  the 
present  moment,  most  concern  us  all,  from  the  highest 
to  the  lowest. 

Maitlevcrer.  There  is  one  point,  Milverton,  which 
I  wonder  you  did  not  touch  upon  ;  and  it  is  this,  that 
as  men  advance  in  life,  they  become  more  truthful  and 
more  sincere.  It  is  one  of  those  odd  fables,  apparently 
believed  by  mankind  in  all  ages,  that  truth  and  sincerity 
are  the  virtues  of  the  3'oung. 

Ellesmere.     This  is  an  astounding  proposition  ! 

Maidevcrer.  No  less  just,  than  astounding.  Truth 
would  almost  go  out  of  the  world,  if  it  were  not  for 
middle-aged  and  elderlv  people. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  409 

Milvcrton.  I  am  as  much  surprised  as  Ellesmere  is. 
What  do  you  mean,  Mauleveicr  ?  Give  us  an  illus- 
tration. 

Maulrc'crcr.  We  went  out  in  a  boat  the  other  day. 
You  and  Ellesmere  were  good  enough  to  accompany 
us ;  but  amused  yourselves  all  the  time  by  telling  us 
what  an  odious  and  detestable  thing  boating  is.  Now 
no  young  man  would  have  done  that.  lie  would  not  like 
to  go  against  the  prevailing  sentiment  of  his  company; 
would  conceal  his  own  sentiments;  and  would  even  pre- 
tend to  be  pleased  with  what  he  secretly  ili&liked.  If 
that  is  not  insincerity,  I  do  not  know  what  is.  You 
must  not  say,  it  would  be  respectfulness  to  his  elders  and 
betters;  the  same  thing  would  occur,  if  it  were  a  party  of 
young  men. 

JMilverton.  There  is  a  great  deal  in  what  you  say ; 
but  I  think  there  is  a  large  admixture  of  causes  for  the 
result  which  you  indicate. 

Maidrcercr.  I  will  not  argue  the  question  ;  but  will 
only  ask  you,  for  the  future,  to  try  and  observe  whether 
there  is  not  much  truth  in  my  assertion. 

Ellesmert.  It  is  generally  very  hard  to  extract  a 
compliment  to  ourselves  out  of  anything  Mauleverer 
may  say ;  but  I  think  we  may  do  so  now.  It  is  clear 
that  Johnson,  being  juvenile,  is  the  only  person  amongst 
us  who  is  untruthful  and  insincere.  The  rest  of  us, 
with  the  exception  of  the  ladies,  being  decidedly  middle- 
aged,  have  become  models  of  truth  and  sincerity. 


410  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

Sir  Arthur.  I  wish,  Ellesmcie,  lliat,  in  addition  to 
our  being  models  of  truth  ami  sincerity,  we  had  been 
models  of  suggestiveness  as  regards  the  imj)ortant 
questions  Milverton  has  put  betore  us.  He  has  ma.le 
me  think,  as  I  never  thought  before,  of  the  dangers 
and  the  difficulties  attending  the  agglomeration  of  large 
numbers  of  people  in  great  towns — an  oi)eration  which 
is  evidently  proceeding  in  this  age  more  rapidly  than 
ever.  He  has  made  me  see  how  this  fact  shouki 
induce  us  more  and  more  to  attend  to '  what  are 
called  social  reforms.  Of  political  reforms  we  have 
probably  had  enough  of  late  years  to  last  us  for  some 
little  time. 

Milverton.  I  have  often  dared  to  think  (perhaps  it 
was  a  wicked  thought — certainly  a  bold  one)  what  an 
advantage  it  would  be  for  this  country  if  parliamentary 
discussions  were  put  aside  for  two  or  three  years,  and 
the  attention  of  the  country  were  directed  to  adminis- 
tration. I  could  even  venture  to  think,  that  during  that 
happy  period,  political  personages  might  enjoy  supreme 
rest,  and  the  Government  of  the  country  be  carried  on 
by  their  Private  Secretaries,  who  are  generally  very  intel- 
ligent fellows,  and  by  the  permanent  officials  of  each 
department. 

Ellesmere.  I  declare  that  Milverton  is  indulging  in  a 
strain  of  sarcasm  which  would  better  befit  other  persons 
in  the  company,  such  as  Cranmer  and  myself. 

Cranmcr.     I  decline  to  be  placed  in  this  conjunction. 


SOCIAL  PRESSURE.  411 

I  suppose,  Milverton,  you  would  allow  that  during 
this  interregmim,  parliamentary  committees  might  sit 
which  had  for  their  object  those  social  and  administrative 
reforms  which  are  so  dear  to  you. 

Milverton.  Certainly.  But  now,  without  any  jesting 
or  sarcasm,  or  cynicism,  do  you  not  own  with  me  that 
there  is  an  enormous  deal  to  be  done  in  those  branches 
of  human  effort  w^hich  have  nothing  whatever  to  do  with 
the  redistribution  of  political  power,  with  theological 
matters,  or  with  any  of  those  questions  which  are  abun- 
dant in  strife,  and  which  pro. luce  very  little  improvement 
for  the  great  masses  of  mankind  ? 

They  were  all  inclined  to  assent  to  this 
proposition,  and  so  the  conversation  ended. 

On  remarking-  afterwards  on  this  conver- 
sation, Sir  John  Ellesmere  said,  "  I  do 
believe  the  world  gets  on  best  by  each  man 
pushing  forward  to  the  utmost  the  objects  of 
the  career  in  which  he  is  embarked.  Milver- 
ton is  an  administrator ;  and  doubtless  he 
perceives  what  good  works  might  be  accom- 
plished by  improvements  in  administration. 
This  view  is  not  likely  to  be  taken  up  by 
many  persons,  therefore  I  am  cjuite  willing 
that  he  .should  put  into  it  whatever  force  lio 


412  SOCIAL  PRESSURE. 

cai.  bring-.  It  is  sure  to  be  suflicicntly 
counteracted  by  other  influences."  This 
sentiment  was  much  approved  by  the 
"Friends;"  and,  moreover,  they  agreed 
among-  them.selves  that,  if  any  suggestion 
should  occur  to  them  which  might  aid 
Mr.  Milverton  in  his  fight  for  good  admi- 
nistration, especially  in  reference  to  the 
management  of  great  towns,  they  would 
take  care  to  impart  it  to  him. 

Alas!  this  was  the  final  day  of  our 
friendly  conversations  The  Easter  holi- 
days were  over ;  and,  on  the  Monday,  we 
returned,  with  somewhat  of  the  heavy  hearts 
of  boys  going  to  school,  to  our  work  in 
town  aoain. 


THE    END. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY  I 

Los  Alleles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


RECD  LD-URL 

APR  2  6  1983 


315 


